


Welcome to Wolfwood

by 0KKULTiC, fairywoongs



Category: ATEEZ (Band), EXO (Band), ONEUS (Band), SHINee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Boarding School, Bullying, Culture Shock, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, HeadWarlock!Baekhyun, HeadWitch!Taemin, High School, Hongjoong hates everyone's guts, M/M, Magic, Magic School, Mingi hates Hwanwoong's guts but damn he fine, Multi, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Rivalry, TaeKai but not really, Warlock!ATEEZ, WarlockTeacher!Jongin, Warlocks, Witch!ONEUS, Witches, and warlocks are derps, basically witches vs warlocks high school bullshit, im sorry oneus is not uh nice all the time. at first., leedo a cute, mean girls but make it magic, mean girls references bc duh, school shenanigans, some romeo and juliet forbidden love realness (just a touch tho), some side ships eventually, this is rly dumb and corny and i LOVE IT, this may look like a fanfiction but it is actually a cleverly disguised save the bees piece, witches are snobs, yixing is a disaster
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2020-11-08 22:26:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 67,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20843018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0KKULTiC/pseuds/0KKULTiC, https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairywoongs/pseuds/fairywoongs
Summary: When esteemed witchcraft academy Rouge Shadow is burned to the ground under mysterious circumstances, the Head Witch is left scrambling just weeks before the beginning of the new semester. Hundreds of students, staff, and spirits are left displaced. With no time to think, the Head Witch turns to the head of the nearest magical educational institution in the region. The witch and warlock come to an accord: for the next school year, the prestigious Rouge Shadow Academy for Witchcraft will merge with the not-so-decorated Wolfwood Warlock School.Mingi expected a few changes coming into the new school year. Maybe a few new hair colors or a couple of new faces walking the halls. Nothing could have prepared him and his friends for the utter culture shock of being expected to somehow live alongside the most over-achieving, privileged, pretentious witches on this side of the mortal plane.It's gonna be a long school year.





	1. Prologue: Burn, baby, burn

**Author's Note:**

> // this work is unbeta'd and will contain increased errors

Sickly rust tones seep into the night sky, dispersed by columns of thick, billowing smoke. Even from the distance, Taemin can feel it, the sheer heat radiating from the epicenter of the great fire. Its amber light reaches between the dense cluster of evergreen branches, piercing a darkness that had once seemed so impregnable. Ill dread roils inside the witches guts as he stands by stewing in a sensation so thoroughly unfamiliar to him.

Helplessness.

It has been centuries since such a petty bother had ever even whispered from the depths of the witch’s mind. Yet there he stands, completely and utterly powerless to stop the fire enveloping his beloved academy for young, bright witches.

Flames devour the old victorian estate from the inside out. Orange sparks seep through every crack, and wrathful explosions shatter glass that had been artfully crafted over a century prior. From her toxic gas spews ugly and dark, stained by the countless ingredients, potions and mystical artifacts that hadn’t been crafted to withstand flame. More devastating, however, is the knowledge that restless spirits had bound themselves to the place. With their material surrogates aflame, no doubt they would take to the skies again, discontent and perhaps even vengeful. Fiery, hot malevolence emanates from the once vivid, bright place in such a thick aura that it’s nearly overwhelming.

“H-How?” Taemin asks his associate, awestruck. He stumbles toward the old estate. The once enchanted, vivid place rapidly reduces to nothing more than an angry, blazing heap of wood and stone. Wretched popping and booming sounds explode from within the tortured soul of an estate. “How?”

“We shouldn’t go any further than this,” Kibum, second only to Taemin himself, instructs the other.

“That’s my school,” Taemin responds defiantly, charging toward the clearing.

“Taemin, no-!” Kibum lunges after the other, just barely catching the black sleeve of the other’s jumper between his fingertips. “It’s lost. She’s lost.”

“No-! No, I- I refuse to accept it!” The witch struggles against his friend’s grip. “We are the most powerful beings on this damn realm of existence-”

“Taemin-”

“-I will be damned if a- if a fire will stop me!”

“Taemin!” Kibum chides the other harshly, grip unrelenting. He grabs the other by the shoulders and turns him so they’re eye to eye. “The academy has fallen. You have to accept it.”

“But how?” The blond shoves the other off roughly. His gaze falls upon the pillars of flame engulfing his beloved academy. “What creature could possibly overcome all of our security measures. The- the barriers, the concealment charms, the traps, the alarms, the- the- oh gods.”

“Settle down, Tae,” Kibum imparts softly. “Burning alive isn’t going to help anything. I mean- I- I don’t know either. I- I don’t know.” He bites down on his lip worriedly, glancing at the blaze meters beyond. “At- at least it was during the summer break,” He tries to add optimistically. “No students or staff were hurt. Well, no mortal ones.”

Oppressive trepidation pressed down on Taemin’s heart heavily. He focuses on the flames, watching them lick up the wood and illuminate the holes once adorned by stained glass windows. The panic trickles into his veins, a stinging venom that begins to strain his ability to breathe, to think even.

“Of course they weren’t,” Taemin says numbly.

“Wh- Hm?” Kibum’s brows furrow confusedly.

“Because their intention was not to harm us, but to warn us.”

“B-But- the intention of who?” Kibum’s voice quivers at the implication.

“I don’t know,” Taemin’s gaze never wavers. Try as he might, he cannot tear his eyes away from the raging mass of malice swelling amidst the forest clearing. “But whoever they are, they’re one of us.”

“They’re- what?!”

“They have to be. The security, the charms, all of the enchantments - only someone on the inside could surpass all of our measures.”

“You- You think it was one of us? One of the staff- or- the students?!”

“There’s no other possibility.”

“... _ Shit _ ,” Kibum hisses, continuing to worry at his bottom lip. “Shit. Where do we go from here? We have to find this fiend. Perhaps if we can get somewhat close we- we can try to divine-”

Taemin heaves a sigh, shaking his head, “No, Kibum. Not now. Not yet. Right now we have more pressing concerns.”

“What? What is more pressing than finding the person who did this to us?!”

“Key, if you don’t recall, this place is- was a school first and foremost. And, in case you’ve forgotten, students are to be moving back into the dormitories in a week’s time.”

“Oh, right. My bad. I guess what with the massive fire burning down our school that detail slipped my mind,” The other witch huffs.

“It is your bad,” Taemin sighs. He dusts himself off, and little specks of ash fly off of his black turtleneck. 

“So what are we to do about our displaced students now? Gods damn, we’re going to have to tell them all to enroll elsewhere. I suppose if we get in touch with all of their intended schools our name might give them some weight. Then again, how many institutions are full up at this point in time, and where will they stay-”

“Enough,” Taemin cuts the other off, holding up a finger. He wags it a few times before elaborating, “We’ve no choice but to merge our entire student body with another organization. We can’t simply send everyone off on their own. The news alone will send them into a tizz, let alone being told they have to find a new place to study. No, no, I… I will think of something.”

“You best think quickly,” Kibum says. 

A loud explosion erupts from the blazing wreckage of the estate, and smoldering hunks of wood and rock fly into the sky. Pieces of debris crash and clatter onto the ground beneath. The sight is horrific: the slow agonizing death of a grand estate, a place that had a spirit in its own rite. It’s not unlike the witch executions of old. She stands helpless, bound to her place, given no other option than to give way to the flames until her very soul is consumed by them.

“Goodbye,” Taemin speaks to the estate itself. His voice thickens, water smearing his vision until he only sees her as a blur of black and bright orange. “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you but know I _will_ find who’s done this to you.”

Kibum shuffles over to Taemin’s side and wraps an arm around his shoulders, squeezing tight. 

Taemin sniffles and shakes the other off. He straightens up his posture and lifts his head high to the sky. 

“Come, Kibum,” He says, voice clear and authoritative again. If they - whoever  _ they  _ are - are watching, he’ll be damned if he shows them fear or vulnerability. “We’ve much work to do.”

“Yes, Headmister.”

  
Taemin turns on his heel. His back burns as he walks away from the fire, but he doesn’t bother turning around or looking back. His shadow stretches long in front of him as he walks away from the clearing he and many others once regarded as a second home. Kibum follows dutifully, muttering a barrier spell to contain the fire behind them.

With the containment from the spell, smoke wells up beneath the energy barrier. It fills the bubble to the brim until finally smothering the flames in their own suffocating fumes.

* * *

Byun Baekhyun coughs and sputters, splattering coffee all over his pink sweater. He pouts, heaving a dejected sigh at the unsightly stain.

“I-I’m sorry,” Baekhyun stutters, “You want to what?”

“Did I say want?” The witch perched properly on his office’s couch replies. “I apologize if my tone implied such uncertainty. What I mean to say is: this  _ is  _ happening.”

Baekhyun smiles through the pain.

If looks could kill, no doubt Lee Taemin would be a mass murderer. Zodiac and Dahmer would wet themselves in the witch’s presence. If Baekhyun likened Taemin to an object, it would be a dagger. A polished, sharp dagger. It wouldn’t surprise Baek if the other drew one out of his tight black pants. Not a single platinum blond hair fell out of place, and his black turtleneck seems like it wasn’t sewn but actually molded to his beautiful body. Even the way he carries himself is intimidating. He’s all direct eye contact and straight back, nothing about him slumps or sags. Baekhyun feels like a bit of a muppet in contrast; shaggy hair, drab (now stained) sweater and jeans in a wash just dark enough to pass as professional.

“I- I’m sorry,” Baekhyun says, “Can you please start from the beginning. I- I’m kind of confused-”

“What part of ‘my school burned down so we need to merge our student bodies so I can send mine here’ did you not understand?”

“Wh- Well, I-” Baekhyun’s eyes shoot down to the nameplate on his desk like it’ll give him the proper answers. Unfortunately, the crappy plastic with embossed “BYUN BAEKHYUN, HEAD MISTER” does little more than remind him just how optimistic he’d been when applying for the position. He briefly wonders if Taemin had a name tag. He imagines it was probably carved out of marble and faceted with real, twenty-four-carat gold. “I suppose the part where somehow the most renowned, exclusive academy of powerful witches got completely annihilated without anyone noticing?”

Taemin’s smile is almost as fake as his hair as he answers, “If I knew the answer to that, do you think I would be here?”

“Listen, I’m very sorry about your situation, but I- I just don’t see how this will work.”

The blond sheds his courteous facade and rolls his eyes, “Of course you can’t. It’s simple, really,” He stands up, striding over to Baekhyun’s desk with a confident ease that the headmister wishes he had. Even just the way Taemin walks makes it seem like he should be accompanied by a string symphony at all times. Baekhyun imagines his personal orchestra would be composed of something like bike horns. Or kazoos.

“Nothing about merging two schools is simple,” Baekhyun replies.

“May I be frank with you?” Taemin asks - as if the other has a choice in the matter. “Perhaps if we were discussing merging two schools of equal stature and rapport in society, this would be a much deeper discussion. This, however - this  _ thing  _ I am extending to you - is more an act of charity than anything.”

Baekhyun balks, “Now hold on-”

“No,  _ you  _ hold on,” The witch cuts him off. “The Rouge Shadow Academy for Witchcraft is one of the most reputable magical academic institutions in the world. Our student body is comprised solely of the continent’s most brilliant, promising young witches and our staff is chock full of decorated, globally recognized figures in the supernatural world. Then, there is you-” Taemin waves vaguely at Baekhyun, as if speaking about him personally. “You warlocks.”

Baekhyun bristles at that. It’s true, witches are more powerful than warlocks. Warlocks can manipulate the material world, but only witches have the ability to manipulate energy, spirits, and living things. Baekhyun by no means resents witches for this. He’s grateful to have any magical gifts at all. After all, he could be a magically stunted manikin, or even worse: a mere mortal, living on completely ignorant of the what truly drives the world around him. He just resents  _ this  _ witch at the moment.

“And what about us?” Baekhyun narrows his eyes.

Taemin rolls his in response, “Oh, please, you know I don’t mean it like that. I am not here to remind you of the painfully obvious reality that witches are superior to your kind in every way.”

“Of course you aren’t,” Baek replies sarcastically. “Thanks for that.”

“I’m not talking about ‘you warlocks’ as in all warlocks, but ‘you warlocks’ as in you warlocks at this school,” He gestures to the office. 

“This school” is, of course, referring to the Wolfwood Warlock School. It’s no fabulous Victorian estate, but the abandoned mental asylum had everything Wolfwood’s founders needed. They lovingly etched out every detail of the facilities, converting hospital rooms to dorms and surgical wards into classrooms. Unlike Taemin’s hoity-toity academy, Wolfwood takes in all kinds - warlocks and witches. They’re happy to accept anyone with an aptitude and a will to learn, even extending financial aid packages which Baekhyun’s fairly certain Taemin would cringe at. Baekhyun is an alumnus himself, and after a few decades of teaching, he returned to his alma mater to run the place. His mental image had been a joyful one, full of laughter, mirthful pranks and fun coming of age rites - all while he had the privilege of watching over the bright youth of tomorrow.

Nowhere in his fantasy was there a platinum blond bitch with a smokey eye and a condescending air. Yet, there he is, in the flesh, demanding that Baekhyun open his school to a few hundred persnickety little witches because _reasons_.

Taemin elaborates on his spiel, “Listen, I’ve done my research. I know that Wolfwood is hurting for enrollment numbers. I get it, we’ve been struggling, too. Humanity is more skeptical than ever, and magic isn’t what it used to be. And a big place like this? Must be hard to keep the lights on.”

Baekhyun presses his lips together. The beautiful bastard’s got a point. They’ve been bleeding for the past decade, each class smaller than the last. With the mortal economy driving down the supernatural subeconomies, everyone’s hurting, and they’ve been extending more scholarships and aid packages just to help people get in the door. Being an old facility, Wolfwood’s in constant need of repairs, too. They’ve had their fair share of floods, fires, and mold issues - none of which went easy on the coffers.

“We make due,” Baekhyun says neutrally. He feels way out of his wheelhouse talking with the other one on one. Shouldn’t there be a board meeting or something? Some administrative staff situation necessitating the presence of an adult - well, an  _ adultier  _ adult - to supervise the fledgling headmister? Alas, Baek foolishly welcomed Taemin into his office, thinking it to be some miscellaneous inter-academic discussion about curriculums or sporting events.

“You make due?” Taemin chuckles at that. “I passed under at least half a dozen holes in the ceiling on my walk to this very office.”

“They’re being repaired. They’ll get better before the students arrive.”

“And what of the poltergeist rearranging the trophy case?”

“Wh- I thought we took care of that- I mean- we- we  _ did  _ take care of that.”

Taemin raises his brows incredulously at that, “What did you do, give it a sage cleanse?”

“ _ No _ ,” Baekhyun fires back even though, yes, that’s exactly what he and Jongin did. It’s not their fault Warlocks aren’t gifted with manners of the spirit realm. They did what they could with the tools at their disposal!

“Of course,” The blond looks far too amused for Baek’s liking. Even so, the headmister allows the other make to make his case. “My point is that this place is falling apart, you have ample room to house more students and your facilities are… Nearly adequate.”

“Nearly adequate? Wow, no need to be so complimentary.”

“Come on, I am handing you the opportunity to house some of the world’s young magical elite. Think of what a good influence they will be on your students. Think of the connections you and your school can make.”

“Wh- What’s wrong with my students?” Baekhyun scoffs. Taemin merely raises his brows in response, but before he can think of any more rude witticisms, Baek continues, “I- I mean, okay. Look, like I said, I feel for you, but you saw it yourself: we’re struggling. And, yes, we have the room to house more students, but with what resources? My staff is spread thin as it is, and we’ve had to cut extracurricular programs. I can’t handle another more than what I’ve got.”

“Which is why it would be downright  _ irresponsible  _ of you to deny my request.”

“What are you talking about? Didn’t you hear a word I just said?”

“Of course I did. Wh- Don’t tell me you think I intend to ask this of you without compensation.”

  
“Without- Wh- Wait,” Baekhyun pauses, coming down slightly from his frazzled state. “Wait. Compensation?”

“Yes. Gods- What, you think I was going to send my students to this place in its current state?”

“Well, I- Uh- Yeah. Yes.”

Taemin laughs, “That is  _ adorable _ . Gods, no. No, no, no.  _ No _ , no, no, no-”

“You can stop saying no now.”

“No.  _ No _ ,” Taemin finally finishes. “Obviously we would compensate you. Along with my students, my staff has been displaced. My proposal is that we share facilities and staff. My staff will come along with the students to help handle the course load, and of course, there will be money put up to assure this school is fit to run properly. I understand you have a set curriculum and I have mine. I’ve no intention of crossing those over, but for the sake of student togetherness perhaps we can overlap some more extraneous courses and activities. I always encourage our witches to reach out to those less fortunate than them.”

“Uh-”

“Now, let me just…” Taemin strides back over to the black trench he’d deposited on Baek’s couch and rifles through the pockets. He withdraws a leatherbound checkbook and a ballpoint pen. “This… Should be a good number to start, no?”

“Uh-” Baekhyun glances down at the check extended to him. He counts one, two, three, four, five, six,  _ seven  _ zeroes behind the one. His eyes blow wide open, and he nearly gags on his own spit.

“There will not be holes in the ceiling where my students are going to school. It just won’t do.”

“Um-”

“We can start with renovating the dormitories and, of course, the staff quarters.”

“Uh-”

“Then we can work on the gymnasium and oh- I have a nagging suspicion we’re going to want to order new textbooks…”

“Um-”

“I suppose if there are funds left over we can zhuzh up that little football field of yours. I think it's adorable that you have one it’s so… Rustic. Pedestrian.”

“Mhm.”

“Oh, and one last thing,” Taemin scans the room.

“I’m sorry are you- are you looking for something?” Baekhyun asks, pathetically lost.

“I’m just wondering,” The blond strokes his chin in thought, “Do you think you could maybe move that wall back?” He points to the wall beside them. It’s currently lined with bookshelves packed to the brim with tomes Baekhyun hasn’t so much as read the title of.

“Uh- Why would I do that?”

“I imagine it’d be much more comfortable to expand the office, don’t you?”

“It… Would?”

“Well, yes. I mean, otherwise, we’d be on top of each other.”

“We-?”

“If the two of us are going to be working together, it’d probably best we’re not bumping elbows all the time.”

“I- Wor- working together?” Baek squeaks.

“Wh- Yes, working together. Do you think I expect you to oversee both student bodies by yourself?” Taemin laughs. “Oh, god no. No, from now until the foreseeable future, you and I are going to be working very close together.”

“Wh-”

“We best get cracking on the renovations, your students are due in a little over a week, no?”

“H-”

Taemin sighs and his shoulders sag slightly, “Oh goodness, it is such a relief that this has worked out.”

“It- It- Wh-”

“I know it’ll be challenging reconciling our numerous differences, but I look forward to tackling this school year with you,” The witch extends his hand.

Baekhyun, completely dumbfounded, takes it. He has no idea what else to do, really. He limply shakes the other’s hand, sealing his fate as co-headmister with Lee Taemin.

“Dark Lord, help me,” Baekhyun mutters under his breath as the other releases his grip and starts commenting on other changes to be made to the office.

“Oh, one more thing,” Taemin says.

“What now?” Baekhyun gulps nervously.

Taemin’s eyes fall pointedly on Baekhyun’s jumper. He makes a sour face as if he’d smelled something bad. The headmister’s heart clenches in terror, anticipating some proposed change to dress code. However, instead, the witch merely snaps his fingers. 

“That’s been bothering me. You really ought to be more careful,” He says before striding off as if walking on clouds and rattling off more would-be improvements to the construction of their office.

Baekhyun looks down at his sweater and sighs. He was going to take care of the coffee stain  _ eventually _ . Of course, he ended up getting a bit distracted, what with the whole merging of two schools a week before the beginning of the academic term.

Baekhyun sighs dejectedly. This is going to be a long, long year.


	2. On the plus side, the acute spike in the bee population will be great for the flowers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> // author's note: yes it is supposed to be headmister

Students flood the lawns of Wolfwood Warlock school in droves. Some dismount familiar animals while others simply drop out of the air. Excited chatter and electric anticipation thrum throughout the crowd all eager to once again make their mark on another school year. People hug and let out raucous squeals upon reuniting with long lost friends. Even if they’d talked to one another every day, everyone greets one another like they’re brand new. Some _ are _ brand new: new hair, new clothes, new phone, new _ nose _. It’s that first-day-back enthusiasm that Mingi knows will fizzle out faster than a four-centimeter fuse.

Still, there’s something exhilarating about the energy. Even he falls under the spell. There’s no magic at work, not really - just the reminder of the perpetually transient yet stubbornly static state of his youthful self. It’s incredible how over the course of a few months, people can change so much on the outside yet somehow be almost exactly the same on the inside. No amount of new clothing or notches on the headboard can really change the fact that it’s just the same shit, different year. In spite of that, the first day of school somehow feels so damn new _ every time _ . There’s that brief honeymoon period during which a person can convince themselves that, no, things _ are _ actually going to be different this time. That things will change. That they’re gonna finally confess to their crush or get top of their class. Of course, that almost never happens, but the possibility of it is titillating on its own. So much so that everyone acts like it’s their first damn first day of school on the first day of school.

“Mingi!” A loud yell behind the third year pulls him out of his thoughts.

“Wh-” Before the lanky warlock can respond, a body’s barrelling into him. Nearly takes him out, too, but luckily he catches the other before crashing onto the ground. “Shit, San. What the fuck?”

“I misseded you!” The fellow third-year pouts. He wraps his long arms around Mingi in a vice.

“Wh- Oh my god, I missed you too,” Mingi wheezes. “The hell, man? You been working out?”

“Mmm-yup,” San giggles before finally unlatching. 

Mingi gasps, “Whoa, holy shit your hair!”

“Oh, yeah, did that, too,” San laughs, running a hand through his now black and gray locks.

“Dude, it looks so good, but damn. Your brand.”

“Yeah, I know. No more blond San. Felt like changing it up,” The other shrugs, and the two fall into a stride toward the arched Wolfwood entrance. “I got tired of people calling me ‘blondie’ and shit.”

“That explains why you haven’t posted any selfies for, like, the past two weeks. I thought you died and, like, got possessed or something,” Mingi laughs.

“Yeah, well I guess I wasn’t the only one who decided to surprise today,” San stands on his tippy toes to ruffle Mingi’s newly rouged locks.

The taller one laughs sheepishly, “Uh- Yeah, that wasn’t exactly intentional.”

“What? Seriously?”

“I was trying to get, like, a darker color, but uh-”

“How do you fuck that up?” 

“Listen! Not all of us use magic on our hair. I’m more used to chemicals, okay? And it was my first time…”

“Why didn’t you just try changing it back?”

“And risk all of it falling out right before school started? Hell no,” Mingi laughs.

“You’d pull off bald.”

“Shut up.”

“It’d be like a sexy Nosferatu thing.”

“Ugh, god-”

“Students!” A loud voice bellows above the general din of teen overenthusiasm. Mingi’s brows raise as he finds the source. Floating just above the arched entryway to campus is Teacher Kim Jongin. “Attention, students!” He claps a few times, wresting away the last few lingering gazes that hadn’t been on him. 

The kindly instructor gives everyone a gracious grin (probably melting half the student body’s hearts in the process), “Thank you,” He starts softly. “First of all, I’d like to wish all returning to Wolfwood a warm welcome. For those of you who are first years or newly enrolled, I hope you come to think of this place as a cherished second home where you can make good memories with your fellow students. Now, I know most of you have already dropped your bags with the dorm faculty. If you haven’t already, please turn your phones and laptops over as well - we can tell if you’ve got them on hand, and we will take them if they’re found. Those of you returning know it is customary to have a welcome dinner and assembly, however, this year things will be different.”

“What?” “Different?” San and Mingi grunt at the same time. They exchanged confused looks. Wolfwood’s been around for almost two centuries, and as far as they know, they’ve never done things differently. Fervent whispers of curiosity and puzzlement erupt among the crowd. Just minutes after arrival, the students sink their teeth into their first hunk of gossip, all mentally clamoring to be the one who figures out just what exactly is going to be different.

Jongin lets the initial shock die down before continuing, “I would like you all to follow the instructions of the staff beyond the arch. They’ll direct you to the Lee Taemin Auditorium on the northwest flank of the campus.”

“The what?” Mingi mutters.

“Who the fuck is Lee Taemin?” San asks. “The name sounds kinda familiar.”

Mingi shrugs, “Kinda rings a bell for me, too, but I dunno. Probably some dead rich person whose estate apparently donated enough to have an auditorium named after them.”

“I thought the auditorium was on the east side, though,” San replies.

“Like hell if I know.”

A few hands shoot up from the crowd, no doubt primed with the very questions plaguing them all. However, the teacher at the helm shakes his head.

“There are going to be… Many questions, I’m sure,” Teacher Jongin projects. It’s seamless, how he does it, manipulating sound waves so he always sounds in close proximity even meters away, a simple but sophisticated spell. (One Mingi hopes he can nail by the end of his third year.) “They will all be answered at our welcome assembly. So, please be orderly and gracious to your fellow student as you take your seat. Thank you!”

With that, the handsome instructor drifts back down to the ground and joins his fellow staff in directing traffic.

“_ Many _ questions?” San quirks an eyebrow. “Please tell me I’m not the only one who thinks that sounds ominous.”

“That definitely sounds ominous,” Mingi nods in agreement. 

“Guess the only way to find out is to go.”

“Guess so.”

The two join the flock of curiouser and curiouser students into the arched entrance and through the courtyard. They’re led down, down, down the main west corridor until their trek takes them out of the main building entirely. It isn’t until Mingi sees the brand new building where there’d once been an empty field that he realizes just what “many questions” _ really _means. He’s not the only one shocked. Once again, rumors galore gallivant through the eager lips of the Wolfwood student body. 

The Lee Taemin Auditorium looks less like an addition to the school and more like a building that’d been dropped there. It’s half the size of the school itself, a gargantuan structure of meticulously shaped red brick with a clock tower and two spires. The entire front of the brick beast is covered with arched windows, each one decorated with a carved pattern so delicate that Mingi can’t even make it out from the distance. Massive gargoyles snarl menacingly down at all below from their perches atop the spires and central tower.

“What the fuck is that?” Mingi whispers to San.

“I don’t know, but I think that one gargoyle’s looking at me funny,” San winces. 

“Man, this year’s school plays are gonna be epic,” Mingi comments as the two get closer to the mysterious new auditorium.

“About time someone gave back to the arts,” San snickers. His grin falls, though, and an expression of puzzlement takes its place. “Y’know, walking over here, I noticed something, too.”

“Huh?”

“Didn’t the school seem… Different? Like the corridor on the inside?”

“Different?”

“Like. I dunno. Cleaner, almost? More sparkling?”

“Sparkling?” Mingi snorts. “Nothing about our school sparkles.”

“Exactly! But, like, now it does! C’mon, I bet you noticed it, too. It looks, like, better.”

“Well…” The redhead bites his lip in thought. “I _ did _ notice that one wall by the dining hall isn’t oozing green stuff anymore.”

“Right!? What is _ up _ with that?”

“I mean, I know this sounds crazy, but they probably cleaned it before we all got here.”

“No, shut up, this is different, okay. Something is _ off _. All the tiles are back in the ceiling, too.”

“You looked at the ceiling tiles?”

“Did you not? Wh- How do you even get by with your pathetic observational skills?”

“Uh, I get by fine, thanks.”

“Look, I’m just saying: whoever this Lee Taemin person is, I bet they’re responsible, y’know?”

“So, what, after all these years of basically falling apart, someone’s finally pitied us enough to throw us a few bucks?”

“More than a few,” San nods toward the fast approaching auditorium. 

“Okay, well, that’s cool, then. It’s about time someone gave a shit about us.”

“I just- I dunno…” San presses his lips together, and his brows knit worriedly.

“You don’t know?” The redhead asks dubiously.

“Listen, nothing in life comes for free. It might seem like some humanitarian act to donate to an old, worn down school, but people have other motives.”

“Uh, yeah,” Mingi waves to the brick goliath in front of them. “I know. This Taemin person got a giant fucking auditorium built with their name stuck on it. They’re probably gonna get crazy tax write-offs for this. How about that for a motive?”

“I just- I have a weird feeling about this. Something is… Off.”

“Off?”

“The energy is different, you know? Can’t you sense it in the air? The forest is… Crowded.”

Mingi rolls his eyes, “San, you’re a warlock. We don’t sense energy.”

“Uh, excuse you, I’m-”

“A quarter witch blood, on your mother’s side - I _ know _.”

“My gut is good!” The black-haired boy pouts. “Why don’t you ever believe me?”

“Because I know you. Remember when your gut feeling said that my crush liked me back first year?”

“That was different!”

“Yeah. Mhm. I think you’re right about that gargoyle, though,” Mingi smirks, pointing at the gargoyle above the clock tower. It’s horrific visage gnarls silently at all beneath. “He’s definitely looking at us funny. Wait- Did you hear that?”

“What? Hear what?”

“That gargoyle, he just said that- that... That Choi San is a little bitch-”

“Wh- Shut up!” San flicks Mingi on the forehead.

“Ow! Stop being so mean!”

“Stop being so rude-”

The two argue for the entire journey into the building. They pause briefly as they enter the grand lobby, awed by the vaulted ceilings and intricately carved patterns on the wall. All banter dies when they finally reach the massive auditorium. It’s like something out of a movie. Vivid murals cover the walls, dynamic depictions of mythological deities, enchanted to always be in motion, telling a story. Gold trimmed corinthian pillars space out the moving pictures, holding the vaulted ceiling up above high. At the epicenter of it all, a gigantic chandelier floats above it all, a centerpiece to the grand theater much like the sun is to the galaxy.

Utter and complete shock infects the masses like an epidemic. People trip and bump into one another, each muttering mumbled sorry's as their eyes struggle to fix onto a single point. Mingi is by no means immune from it, and his mouth lolls open carelessly as he stumbles in the general direction of the herd. He’s lucky a fly doesn’t meander in.

“Oh- No, other way,” A teacher rouses Mingi from his stupor. The kindly woman - Teacher Solji, Mingi recalls - waves him away in the opposite direction. Initially, he’s confused. Behind her, there are rows upon rows of plush, velvet seats completely unoccupied. Then, he notices a black silk ribbon running down the entire section, from the top seat down to the one in the very front.

“They’re leaving half of it open?” Mingi asks confusedly.

Teacher Solji nods, “That’s correct. You all will sit on the right side, see?” She waves to the crowd of students neatly filing into rows on the right side of the room.

“Huh. Right,” Mingi grunts. He rejoins a snickering San, and the two eventually file into their seats.

* * *

“Man, this sucks,” Mingi sighs, sinking down in his seat. He should’ve known it would take forever to actually herd the student body into the auditorium. He sat down half an hour ago, and the seemingly endless rows of seats are just now filling up to completion. Maybe if they’d been smart and offered free food, everyone would’ve been seated by now. Also Mingi’s stomach lining wouldn’t be eating itself.

“Just play another round,” San says next to him.

“Fuck no, I always lose, and then you abuse me,” Mingi pouts his lips dramatically.

“Nut up,” Hongjoong, a fourth year, says from the other side of San. By some freakish stroke of luck, he managed to wander his way in next to Mingi and San. The fourth year’s a cherished friend and sort of older brother to Mingi. Even though he’s half the redhead’s size, Mingi’s always looked up to him. He’d never admit it, of course, but he seriously admires Hongjoong. The guy busts his ass and is a total badass because of it. Even though he doesn’t get the best marks, he’s one of the most gifted warlocks in all of Wolfwood - maybe _ the _ most gifted.

“Did you just tell me to nut?” Mingi snorts.

“Ew- Smack him, San,” Hongjoong wrinkles his nose.

“Noted,” San obliges, smacking Mingi on the shoulder.

The redhead laughs more, “Wh- Come on, man, you walked into that!”

“Okay, seriously? When is this damn assembly about to start?” Hongjoong groans. He throws his hands up.

“Does that count as paper?” San asks smugly.

“Shut up!” The senior of the trio cries. “I’m serious. I’m fucking starving.”

Mingi shimmies back up in his chair and turns around. Thankfully the load-in finally appears to be coming to a conclusion. Teachers and other staff occupy the rows farthest back while what appear to be the last of the students fill into rows a bit further up. 

“Oh, shit, someone’s walking on-” Hongjoong whispers loudly. Mingi’s head whips around, and he clamps his mouth shut when he sees Headmister Byun Baekhyun take the stage. The headmister has a unique way about him. There’s an almost disarming approachableness to the warlock. Rumors say that even though he upholds the school tradition of limited tech access, he’s a huge gamer who spends all his off time playing battle arena games. Some students liken him to an amicable but stern older brother. Still, he manages to command authority when it counts most. Now is definitely one of those times. He looks more imposing than usual, ditching his typical uniform of a buttondown and tie under a jumper for a black turtleneck under a shockingly fashion-forward blue suit. The color contrast makes him jump out visually. from the deep crimson velvet of the curtains behind.

“Who the fuck dressed him?” San asks.

“I dunno, but they should dress him every day,” Mingi replies hushedly.

“Hell no,” Hongjoong adds, “School is hard enough without having to balance a hard-on for the headmister.” He makes a dramatic purring noise, earning a smack from San and a gagging sound from Mingi.

  
The general buzz of student chatter gradually dies down as the headmister looks out at his student body. When everyone’s quieted down, the head mister bows shallowly and gives the crowd a smile.

“Welcome back, everyone,” Headmister Byun Baekhyun says. “It’s nice to see all of your faces again. I hope everyone had a good summer break. Perhaps you saw some beautiful places or got some much needed rest. Most importantly, I hope you’re ready for another wonderful year here at Wolfwood. This year, more than ever, things are going to be different. Drastically different. Very, _ very _drastically different.” He lets out an airy chuckle that sounds more unnerved than humored (or maybe that’s Mingi’s imagination).

The headmister clears his throat and continues, waving at the grand auditorium, “I mean, look at this place for starters. Pretty cool, right?” He looks around, seeming almost lost. The poor fucker was probably expecting some type of response. That’s the thing about Headmister Byun Baekhyun. He can put on a nice suit and do his hair, but when it comes down to it, he’s sort of a dork deep down. “Right?” The headmister says again, projecting his voice even more loudly. As if finally catching on, the student body responds with a collective murmur of “yeah”s along with a few more animatedly eager “woo”s.

“Thank you, thank you,” The Headmister grins kindly. “Of course, as blessed as we at Wolfwood are, none of this would be possible without the help of someone very… Special.” Mingi is almost certain the twitching of the man’s eye isn’t just a trick of the light. He leans forward in his seat, brows knit in concentration. “Perhaps you heard his name on the way here, or maybe you saw it engraved upon the signage outside- or maybe it was the engravement on the arch over the entry that tipped you off- ha! Without further ado, I would like to introduce the man responsible for this. Please extend a warm Wolfwood welcome to Lee Taemin!” Baekhyun nods to someone off stage with a tight-lipped smile and claps. The students in the audience clap politely, another round of hushed theorycrafting washing over the curious crowd like a tidal wave.

“Holy shit,” Hongjoong gasps. “Fuck the Headmister, who is _ he _?”

“Fuck’s sake, Joong, get it together,” San chides. 

Mingi shakes his head, “Dude, he just said it: that’s Lee Taemin. The guy who paid for all of this.” Mingi follows the other man as he strides across stage. There’s a sort of effortless grace about him. He doesn’t walk so much as he glides, head held high and noise stuck up higher. If he had to use one word to describe Lee Taemin it would be “expensive”. His deep red suit looks like it cost more than Mingi’s tuition twenty times over. The cravat adorning his collar appears to be some sort of snakeskin leather - or so the redhead thinks at first. He jolts back when he realizes it’s not a snakeskin cravat - he’s got a _ live snake _ wrapped around his throat. A pretty big one at that. No doubt the coil of pure muscle could crush the man’s throat if it had the will, but instead the creature merely rests, docilely - no, Mingi realizes. Obediently. But how? Had the creature been trained for the sole purpose of existing as an accessory? Or perhaps the man had used a witch liaison to make a contract and enlist the creature as a familiar.

“Hey-” Mingi nudges San, “That’s a real snake.”

“Wh-” The black-haired boy scoffs incredulously. “No it isn’t.” He narrows his eyes to get a better look, widening them considerably seconds later. “Holy shit.”

“You think he would step on me if I asked nicely?” Hongjoong posits, earning a punch on the shoulder from San.

“Now, we at Wolfwood Warlock School are very grateful for this beautiful auditorium,” Baekhyun’s projected voice slices through the white noise of quiet conversations. “However, I imagine some of you have also noticed other improvements to our school as well. Though nothing flashy, Taemin has also helped us update, improve, and fortify the very infrastructure of our school facilities. Including our dining hall, classroom, gymnasiums, and, of course: our _ dormitories _.”

The students gasp at the last one. Even if whatever update they’d made isn’t all that great, the very prospect of there being something different than the musty old dorm they know is positively exhilarating. 

Baekhyun continues, “He’s been incredibly generous, which I think warrants another round of applause, don’t you?” There’s no prompting needed this time. The applause that bursts from the student body is uproarious, bouncing loudly off of the fanciful vaulted ceiling above. The man of the hour, Lee Taemin, smiles at the crowd. It’s a pretty, perfect, toothy smile that - while wide - somehow manages to be completely devoid of authentic joy. It’s like the kind of smile a stepdad gives to the kid they don’t like much that wasn’t theirs to begin with.

“San,” Mingi whispers, bumping his friend with his shoulder. “I’m starting to buy your whole ulterior motive thing.”

“_ Thank _ you,” San murmurs back. “I mean, look at this shit.” He waves to everyone around them, clapping happily and enthused by the prospect of all their new things. “He buys the trust of the masses with new, shiny stuff . Then, he lays on the charm with the looks. This is _ typical _villain behavior.”

“Oh come on,” Hongjoong laughs. “You’re just hating on him because he’s hot and rich. The guy gave us a new auditorium.”

“But _ why _ ?” San asks conspiratorally. “I mean- Who the fuck _ is _ this guy? You expect me to believe that some filthy rich benefactor just came out of nowhere and decided to give _ our _ shitty school his millions? Something doesn’t add up. He’s got a motive. Probably something evil.”

Joong rolls his eyes,“Well- Shh- shh, he’s talking!” He rushes to hush the other when Taemin turns to face the students.

“Greetings good students of Wolfwood. As your wonderful Headmister Baekhyun said, I am Lee Taemin, but you may call me Headmister Taemin or, if you prefer, Head Witch Taemin.”

“Oh shit,” Mingi murmurs. “He’s a witch? Wait, I feel like I definitely _ have _ heard of him...”

“The fuck is a witch doing giving money to our school?” San whispers. 

“Shut up-” Hongjoong hisses. “If you don’t keep quiet we’re not gonna find out.”

“I’m just saying,” San whispers back. “_ Motive _.”

The witch, apparently unphased by the uproar of shushed utterances, continues to speak, “You all must be wondering why I’m here. I imagine it’s a most curious thing to see a powerful witch have such stake in the education of warlocks. For the majority of our academic careers, the paths of our kind seldom intersect. Warlocks go to school for warlocks, and witches vice versa. Different magic, different needs, of course.” The blond’s composed expression falters slightly, piquing Mingi’s interest even more.

“Of course,” The head witch says, “Times change. I could lecture for hours about witches and warlocks, our tempestuous history or our varying differences. However, I’ll opt to leave that to your history teachers. What brings me here is not our past nor anything about witches and warlocks-”

“Why does he keep talking about witches and warlocks?” Mingi leans over to San and whispers. “He’s making this really weird.”

“Typical witch shit,” San laughs wryly, “They’re so damn self absorbed.”

“Guys,” Hongjoong leans over with a smirk, “I dunno if you know this, but _ he’s _ a _ witch _.” He snorts. “Just in case you forget.”

“-what brings me here,” Taemin talks all the while, “Is the world of today. I’m sure we all know that the world around us is changing. People are changing. _ Magic _is changing. You-” He gestures to the students, “-are changing. After today, the entire student body of Wolfwood will change.” A few mutters and murmurs shoot across the crowd at that. There’s something undeniably harrowing about his words and the dire way in which they’re delivered.

“While I wish I could sing the praises of progress,” The witch says, “Not all changes in this modern day and age have served the magical and supernatural communities well. I am sure all in this room know that the mortal world is more skeptical and volatile than ever. I apologize for how grim this must sound - especially for the first years. As if high school isn’t scary enough,” He lets out a wry laugh, and a few students go along with it out of courtesy.

“Intolerance has always existed among the mortal world - the immortal and supernatural, too, of course. However, unlike times of the past - the inquisition, the infamous witch trials spanning across Europe and the Americas - in this modern age, intolerance is allowed to spread like never before. People are empowered and even encouraged to act upon their dark urges, and it is those precise urges that brought me to the office of your Headmister Byun Baekhyun.” He flashes another grin to Baekhyun - this one more genuine. In contrast, Wolfwood’s Headmister smiles back in an almost strained manner.

“Yo,” Hongjoong leans over and mutters, “This speech is a fucking downer.”

“Seriously,” Mingi nods in agreement. 

The platinum blond witch continues his spiel to the students who are more curious than ever, “If you have heard the name Lee Taemin before, perhaps it is because I am the Head Witch of The Rouge Shadow Academy for Witchcraft.” A few gasps pop out from the crowd in lieu of recognition, others just shrug or shake their heads.

“Wait- I’ve heard of that place,” San says. “It’s that insane witch school.”

“Insane how?” Hongjoong asks.

Mingi explains, “Super rich, super exclusive, super high achievers. Wh- How haven’t you heard of it?”

“I don’t know witch shit,” The senior shrugs.

“Not surprised he doesn’t know it,” San quips. “It’s too hard to type out the name with one hand.”

“Fuck off,” Joong huffs, crossing his arms.

Head Witch Taemin explains further, “My beautiful academy was set aflame not two weeks ago. As you can imagine, an entire academic institution burning to the ground can have quite a drastic effect on the upcoming school year.” He chuckles. “My associates and I explored many avenues of possibility as to how to handle this tragic loss. However, after much deliberation we did opt to forgo the year long summer break.” He smiles at his own lame joke, and a few chuckle with him. “Though the loss of our beloved school is devastating, it is heartening to know that, in spite of our differences, we witches and warlocks always watch out for one another. The magic that runs through our veins and the bond that we share is stronger than any single act of hate or intolerance. I want you to remember that.”

“I’m literally so confused,” San utters. “Is this some, like, symbolic witch and warlock handholding thing? Is he running for a political office?”

“That’d be a sound ulterior motive,” Mingi nods in approval of the theory. Hongjoong just shrugs.

“Your headmister,” The witch says, giving Baekhyun another fond smile, “Has extended a gracious courtesy that I have only begun to repay. That _ we _ have only begun to repay. As you can see, I have looked out for you-” He waves to the grand theater. “-and though I would like to toot my horn and say my help with improving the school has been substantial, it can in no way match the generosity of Headmister Baekhyun.”

“What the fuck is he talking about?” Mingi covers his mouth to stifle a laugh. “Is he outright admitting he, like, bought us this shit because he got something out of it?”

“Real question is how did our dopey ass Headmister compensate him?” San replies.

Hongjoong proposes, “Maybe they’re banging.”

“No dick or ass is _ that _ good,” The black-haired one responds.

“Okay,” Joong says. “Fuck if I know, then. Maybe he sold Taemin all those malevolent spirits lurking the grounds. Or the asbestos in the wall.”

“Shut up,” Mingi shushes the other two, “I think he’s finally gonna spill.”

“Headmister,” Taemin says almost sweetly, “Why don’t you tell them?”

“Oh, me?” The Head Warlock coughs, clearly surprised by the sudden turn. “Are you sure? You’re so good with words.”

“Please, I insist. They are your students.”

“Aw, thank you,” The warlock flashes the witch a saccharine smile, but Mingi can tell he’s in pain. No doubt whatever announcement he’s about to make isn’t an easy one. Whatever the Headmister gave over to the witch must have been substantial if all the improvements he mentioned were really made. It begs the question: what is it?

The warlock starts speaking, and the entire room goes silent, anticipation so thick it practically pulses across the room,“The Head Witch and I deliberated on this matter in length. After some very difficult consideration, discussing what would be best for all of the students, the displaced staff, he and I reached an agreement. As you wonderful Wolfwood folk know, this school has downsized from the times of yore. We’ve had the good privilege of operating with ample space for all of our students, teachers, and staff. Surplus space, really.”

  
Mingi nods. It’s no secret that Wolfwood used to be way more populated back in the day. All the magic schools were, so they say. Nowadays people don’t find magic like they used to. Powers aren’t awakened, and skepticism smothers out many a fledgling. A person’s latent magical power is just like any other talent or aptitude. Without being nurtured it will stagnate or even die. Not everyone is born to a longstanding bloodline of magic. Only those with great power have inevitable awakenings. Many humans walk the earth as mere mortals, dormant seeds never given the chance to bear fruit.

“Given that this is a dire time of need for the witches of The Rouge Shadow Academy, I made a decision. Charity is one of the five points of the dark star upon which this school was built. We have what the Rouge Shadow Academy does not. So, in the spirit of charity and solidarity among magic persons of all kinds, I have made the decision to extend an invitation to the witches of Rouge Shadow to attend Wolfwood this coming year.”

The students of Wolfwood are unable to suppress their voices any longer. Tact and low murmuring is thrown out the window in favor of unapologetically verbalized shock, and the myriad utterances bounce loudly across the grandiose auditorium. Students ask questions and demand answers, they gawk to one another and spew theories and suspicions.

“What?!” “Hold up- Did he just say-” “Ff- Wh-”

Mingi, San, and Hongjoong stutter and choke on their words after receiving the news.

“How’s _ that _ for a motive?” Mingi asks San.

The black-haired warlock, entirely too shocked to speak, simply shakes his head.

  
“Wh- What the fuck does that mean?” Hongjoong roughly wrings a hand through his cropped blue-gray hair. “What’re are we just- are we gonna get fuckin’- double the student body or something? The shit?”

“Now, now,” The Headmister’s voice rises above the rest, loud and crystal clear. Though it quells the major uproar, at this point nothing can make the nervous whispers of the students cease. “I understand this comes as quite a shock to you all. Trust me, this came as a surprise to me as well, but when you are faced with a challenge there are two things you can do: you can back down or you can rise to it. We at Wolfwood will rise, and so shall the witches of The Rouge Shadow.”

“Holy shit,” San mumbles. “He’s fucking serious. We’re going to school with witches.”

“There goes my standing in the class,” Hongjoong grouses.

“I know you all have a lot of questions about this arrangement,” The warlock says. “I will lay out the situation moving forward simply, and you will receive an in-depth explanation during your first homeroom class. We will be sharing many things with our friends from Rouge Shadow. Most obviously, our facilities. The Rouge Shadow witches will be taking classes alongside our Wolfwood warlocks. You will eat with them in the same dining hall and make use of the same gymnasiums, auditoriums, and classroom facilities. Certain general education courses such as your arithmetic, or human sciences will also be shared to a limited degree. We will also be meeting with the heads of our extra curricular activities to discuss the possible merging of programs such as our performing arts, academic and athletic clubs. Given that our dormitories were finalized prior to this merge, most of your room arrangements will remain unaltered, but there is a slight chance of a few assignments overlapping.

“What you will _ not _be sharing is your magical courses nor academic standing. The Rouge Shadow will maintain its independence as an academic entity in that regard. Their academic rankings will be theirs, and ours ours. Any seniors attending from Rouge Shadow will receive a diploma from Rouge Shadow, and our seniors shall receive one from Wolfwood. We will be living alongside and sharing many things with these wonderful, bright witches, but ultimately this is a temporary arrangement and not a genuine merging of our institutions.

“This is unforeseen and unprecedented. Nothing like this has ever happened in the history of any magical school I’ve heard of. We are all playing it by ear a bit, and I’m sure we will all spend the majority of our short time together adjusting to this new, strange meshing of cultures, of schools. It might even be frustrating at times. But I want you all to know that this drastic change is a challenge, yes, but it’s not a hindrance. This is an opportunity to know our counterparts in the realm of the supernatural a little better. It’s a chance to make friends that perhaps you would have _ never _ even known existed otherwise. This is a chance to teach and a chance to learn, to take in new perspectives and to create unique memories that no other warlock you know can _ ever _say they had.”

“Can I get a chance to hang myself?” San jokes wryly.

Hongjoong leans over again, signature gummy grin on his face, “Okay, here’s my proposal. We all put five dollars in. First one to fuck a witch gets the pot.”

“A whole forty dollars?” Mingi’s face contorts as he tries to keep his laughter in. “Wait- If we’re essentially getting paid to bang a witch, does that make us prostitutes-?”

Once again, the witch Taemin steps forward and regards the crowd, “I understand that this is a fairly drastic alteration of the course of your year. We hope that everyone involved will be gracious and understanding so this transition is as smooth as possible. Though our school is gone, us Rouge Shadow witches are no less eager to learn and to take this new step forward with all of you.” A massive smile, this one more genuine than any of the ones before, spreads across the witch’s face. Smiling ear to ear, he gestures toward the students seated. Initially, everyone is confused, exchanging looks ranging from baffled to terrified.

The sound of door hinges squeaking penetrates all, echoing loudly across the stunned silent crowd of Wolfwood’s brightest. The collective’s heads whip around, all focused on the blinding, gleaming point of entry. Mingi blinks rapidly, dazzled by the sudden intrusion of white light at first. Then, the bodies come in.

They begin as slight silhouettes against the bright light.

The blond witch on stage enthusiastically announces their presence, “Without further ado, it is my honor to introduce you to my brilliant pupils, the witches of The Rouge Shadow Academy of Witchcraft.”

The silhouettes materialize as they emerge from the light, striding down the aisle like it’s a damn catwalk. They’re all clad head to toe in black, donning beautifully fitted dresses and well tailored suits. Apparently, they don’t dress down on move-in day. Mingi’s heart seizes up with anxiety. He’s not great with new people, especially ones that look like they’d happily use him as a footstool. Not a hair nor thread juts out of place, and not a single witch is smiling. They all wear vaguely disdainful expressions of aloofness - as if being there is the most massive inconvenience they’d ever been tasked with enduring. It’s incredible and awe inspiring, the near palpable aura they exude. Mingi wonders if it’s intentional, a spell they’d all agreed to cast together, or if that’s just how a person walks when they come from a privileged background of wealth and premium education.

“Please,” Headmister Baekhyun urges the Wolfwood students, “Stand and give a gracious welcome to our new schoolmates.” Wolfwood’s students hesitantly oblige their headmister’s orders, awkwardly rising and clapping, a few in the aisle seats flashing nervous smiles and imparting nice greetings.

The witches appear to move in slow motion, their eyes flitting across the Wolfwood students, observing. Judging. Mingi’s pupils dance around anxiously. He can’t quite figure out where to look. There’s so much glitter and glitz, shiny silk shirts and smooth leather pants. Jaws sharper than knives and lips curved into sly little smirks. He doesn’t dare allow his eyes to settle on a single one for too long, entirely too terrified by the prospect of one of them noticing _ him _. His stomach is way too empty and his mind is way too full to cope with that right now.

Unfortunately, Mingi’s gaze is just about as clumsy as the rest of him. It trips and falls after shooting away from a silver-haired girl’s face when she turned her face in his direction. When he collects his eyes off of the collection of designer shoes parading down the aisle, they somehow manage to tangle with the gaze of the one at the very front.

A petite figure strides alongside the rest, studying the Wolfwood student populous with a half-lidded gaze. The long jacket he’s wearing has an intricately embroidered pattern of a dragon, and it billows out behind him as if there’s a breeze blowing it just so. The metallic threads twinkle in the light, and the cool silvery tones compliment his lilac hair and dark eyes flawlessly. There’s an ease to the way with which he sachets down the aisle that makes his petite figure appear just as long and tall as the rest. 

He clearly notices Mingi gawking and does nothing to hide his full body check. The witch’s dark eyes travel from the warlock’s toes all the way up his body until they land on his gaze yet again. The verdict? Unimpressed, so it seems. The witch’s face does a _ thing _; he sucks his cheeks in and his nostrils flare a bit. Mingi swallows nervously, officially too petrified with awkwardness to dare avert his eyes. As if staring at the guy isn’t bad enough, Mingi ends up being so entangled his head turns and follows him. For some reason, the witch does the same. Even when his back’s to Mingi, he maintains the contact, turning to glance over his shoulder.

Suddenly, Mingi somehow chokes on his own spit and ends up hacking and coughing like a jackass. He doubles over and with that brilliant demonstration of the human respiratory system, his weird long-distance witch encounter ends.

“Mingi, you good?” San asks, bemused.

“M-Mm- fine, yeah,” Mingi coughs, sniffling.

“What the _ fuck _is that?” Hongjoong asks, at a loss as the legion of flawlessly dressed witches floats down the aisle.

“Extra is what it is,” San scoffs. “They could’ve just been sitting there the entire fucking time. But _ no _, they needed a dramatic entrance.”

“Figures,” Joong replies. “Witches grace us with their presence and they want us to kiss their ass. What a way to spend my senior fuckin’ year.”

“Hey,” Mingi says, “They could be, uh, really cool. You don’t know.”

“Hm,” San grunts. “Yeah, they seem like real gems.”

“Maybe we can braid each other’s hair and play truth or dare,” Hongjoong adds snarkily.

“Seriously? C’mon we’ve gotta at least give them a chance,” Mingi says. “We have to live with them for a year. We should make it easy on ourselves.”

“You think they came here to play nice?” The senior asks. “Their fucking school got burned to the ground. They’re probably pissed they have to come to our backwater neck of the woods and go to a school with warlocks.”

“Okay, not all witches are like that. Like, most really aren’t. This isn’t the nineteenth century.”

“Maybe not most, but _ these _witches?” Hongjoong nodes to the black clad witches neatly filing into their seats. “These are the cream of the crop, right? Some super fucking exclusive ivy league shit. The closest most of us have been to ivy league is walking into a patch of poison ivy.”

“So, what, they’re all jerks automatically?”

“Have you ever _ read _ the news? All the biggest assholes are rich people. Do you ever see articles about poor people throwing shit at their assistants or hexing their exes?”

“What kind of news do you read?”

“I cast my net wide,” Hongjoong sasses. “Oh- I guess we’re sitting now.”

The Wolfwood students drop back into their seats, abuzz with fresh opinions, observations, and questions. The Head Witch yet again picks back up, greeting his beloved pupils and welcoming them. The Rouge Shadow witches get a speech very much the same. Welcome to Wolfwood, let’s try to live happily together, make good memories - all of the good stuff. After awhile, Mingi’s nerves settle down, and all he and the others can think about is dinner. They almost forget about the RS witches entirely until it’s time to file out neatly and they’re forced to awkwardly trek back up the aisle side by side.

* * *

“You think they would’ve told us something ahead of time!” Hongjoong prods his hunk of beef violently with a chopstick. Apparently, along with the facilities, the menu has gotten a boost, too. Grills float above the long tables in the grand dining hall, and platters heaped with beautifully marbled meat and beautiful vegetables surround each station. A veritable smorgasbord of sauces and sides accompany the edible cornucopia of goodness. “Like, ‘hey guys, just so you know, there’s gonna be like double the amount of people attending school and by the way they’re the bougiest snobs on the planet’. It’s like you wanted a new puppy for Christmas and then your parents tell you you’re getting a new brother instead.”

Mingi snorts at that, practically spitting out the tender cut of beef he’d been savoring.

“You’re so dramatic,” Yunho, one of Mingi’s closest friends since first year, shakes his head in disapproval. “Also don’t talk so loud. They’re not deaf, you know.”

“I doubt they’d care,” Wooyoung, another member of their friend group, comments from beside Yunho. “They can probably wad up their money and stuff it in their ears so they don’t hear us.”

“Keep talking like that and you’re gonna get our asses hexed,” Seonghwa, the mom of the group, chides. “You wanna walk around with a pig’s nose for a week?”

“Or,” Yeosang, Hwa’s closest friend, “We could just, like, be nice.”

“Hm.” “Nah.” “Eh.” “Nice is overrated.” 

“Right, okay, fuck nice. Got it,” Yeosang nods sarcastically. 

“I mean, we won’t even see them most of the time, right?” Their youngest, Jongho, asks.

Yeosang presses his lips together,“You think we’ll have to merge club activities?”

“That’d be a smart way to force us to socialize if they want to,” Jongho observes.

“You think they even have clubs?” Wooyoung asks. “I mean, if they’re such a bigdick academic institution, maybe they just study all the time.”

“I bet they have a horseback riding club,” Hongjoong laughs, delicately setting another slab of marbled beef onto their grill. 

“We could ask them,” Yunho posits. “You know, to their faces.” He nods his head to the side, gesturing toward the table packed with Rouge Shadow witches just behind them. “Instead of, like…” He looks around the room, and Mingi follows his gaze.

The separation is stark, like a line had been drawn down the center. One half of the dining hall is Wolfwood warlocks, dressed in everything from jeans to sweats, snickering loudly and having chopstick duels to fight for cuts of meat. The other is row upon row of primly seated black suits and dresses. The Rouge Shadow witches speak hushedly, casting side eye glances to the Warlocks across the room. They forgo the use of utensils and instead levitate their food onto their grills, sipping tea and laughing like rich girls out of an old shoujo anime.

“Yeah, this is pretty awkward,” Mingi breathes out. Even worse is the fact that their table is along the divide, and just a couple of meters behind Mingi sits a cluster of impeccably dressed witches. They almost radiate a heated aura of haughtiness, and the redhead feels it sear him like he’s got his back turned to a sweltering fire.

“Gods,” Seonghwa groans, “They’re probably gonna make us do ice breakers at some point before classes start.”

“Gross.” “Ew.” “Kill me now.” A few wails of protest sound out across the table. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Mingi notices the blond next to him twitching ever so slightly. Yunho keeps craning his neck, sneaking little looks at the witches behind them. The look brewing beneath his dark eyes is one Mingi’s seen before, and it delves a pit of dread in his stomach.

“Yunho, I know what you’re thinking, but no,” Mingi says hushedly. 

“Wh- Oh come on, seriously Mingi?” Yunho laughs. “They’re not animals. They don’t bite. You guys are seriously being judgmental.”

“Yeah, they might not bite, but you don’t have to be that guy who, like, extends the olive branch, okay? Shit’ll thaw over time. It’s just awkward right now.”

“He’s right,” Hongjoong adds. “Just let them be. We can all hold hands and sing kumbaya another time. It’s our first day back. Let’s just enjoy _each other_.”

“Wha- I just wanna say hi,” Yunho scoffs. His brows furrow, “Seriously, guys?”

“Look,” Hongjoong says, “If you’re so set on it, we can all introduce ourselves after we eat. Not in the middle of dinner, though.” He speaks with his personal brand of stern yet authoritative finality. For someone so young, he sure as hell acts like a dad sometimes. Mingi guesses that’s just the way it is when a person is unofficially elected pack alpha of a friend group. _ Someone _ has to have the final say. It doesn’t help that the rest of them act like children most of the time (even Seonghwa, the oldest).

Yunho’s a special case among them, though. It's not that he’s babyish - he’s actually one of the oldest. He’s got lots going for him: wits, kindness, athleticism, humor. All of his best qualities make for the ideal human, really. But he’s at a _ Warlock _ school, and the one thing he falls behind on is magic. 

The derogatory term for it is “manikin” - the technical definition of which refers to a person who’s exceptionally small or one of those plastic human models that always give Mingi the creeps in shops. Among the supernatural community, it’s used to refer to the weakest magical beings on the ladder. Just barely a half-step above common humans, manikins have such meager power it’s more often than not that they end up assimilating to human society anyways. Simple things like levitation and divination are effortful feats for a manikin, and things like alchemy or even mere pyromancy are out of the question.

Yunho is a fairly rare case given that the majority of them manikins study magic independently if at all. Very few bother applying to mystic educational institutions and fewer are accepted. It’s borderline miraculous that Yunho found his way to Wolfwood. Born to human parents, he’s got no foundation whatsoever. He found his powers and sought out further exploration completely his own, and, gods bless his parents, they allowed him to pursue them. 

From what Mingi’s heard and read online, most manikins who do attend magic schools walk around with bullseyes on their backs, ripe for the picking of the rotten bullies running the place. Yunho avoids the brunt of it - he’s so fucking _ nice _ even the most despicable of Wolfwood’s A-listers can’t muster the shitty gusto to bully him to his face. Even so, Mingi and the others hear people mutter under their breath from time to time. “He’s off to his special classes again.” “It’s not fair that he gets longer to take his exams.” “Is he even magical at all or did the Headmister let him in to pad numbers?”

Consequently, the squad’s got a bit of a protective streak for him. He’s the _ last _ person they’d want to put on the front lines of the fearsome battleground of inter-school interaction. Yunho’s no delicate flower. No doubt he hears stuff, too, and he can take a hit probably better than most of the others. That doesn’t mean they _ want _him, too, though. Even Mingi, among the youngest of the group, frets over him sometimes, and Hongjoong would probably cover the guy in enchanted bubble wrap if he could.

“Man, what the hell were they thinking?” Hongjoong says, skewering his cooked beef on a chopstick angrily.

“You know how Mister Byun is,” Yunho shrugs. “He’s, like, super nice and really accommodating.” He obviously speaks from experience.

“Yeah, yeah,” Joong heaves a sigh. “Accommodating to them. But what about us?”

“Jeez,” Seonghwa chuckles. “You’re really going in on this, aren’t you?”

“Wh- How are you not pissed?!” Hongjoong throws his hands up. “Especially you, Hwa! This is our last year and now we’re gonna half to spend half of it walking on eggshells around strangers.”

“Just eat your damn beef,” The oldest laughs. “You’re just being extra dramatic because you’re hangry.”

“It’s just not fair,” The pack leader pouts. “If they at least told us about it, I could’ve like mentally prepared. But we got blindsided. Meanwhile they’re probably all just hanging out, having a lovely dinner while they discuss decisions that’ll drastically alter the course of our day to day lives.”

“It’ll affect them, too, you know,” San chimes in. 

Hongjoong balks,“Oh, please. Aside from a few meetings, all the teachers and staff probably won’t even have to look at each other, let alone see each other every day.”

* * *

“Now make sure to mingle! We’re going to be working with one another every day from here on out!” Taemin tilts his wine glass to signify the conclusion of his toast. The instructors, coaches, and other staff in the faculty dining hall reciprocate the gesture before tilting their own beverages of choice down the hatch.

Baekhyun bemoans the weak ratio of his mixed beverage. Technically, he could cast a spell to rectify that, but getting “too lit” (as his students say) would be incredibly unprofessional. He’s already on edge around the Rouge Shadow staff, even though the majority have been lovely. Initially, the prospect of meeting Taemin’s instructors and staff terrified Baekhyun. His mental image of the lot was a crowd comprised of published authors, celebrated scholars, and people who act like, well, like their Head Witch. Though he did, in fact, stutter through a few introductions. How else was he to react upon meeting Jung Eunji, the award winning author of The Mysticism of Martial Arts? Not to mention how he scarcely kept himself upright when _ the _Lee Jinki - operatic baritone, crown jewel of the Malefica Umbra Opera in Vienna.

“So far, so good,” Taemin sidles up to Baekhyun, glancing across the newly expanded faculty dining room. 

The place looks beautiful and modern, much to Baekhyun’s relief. When Taemin discussed renovations, Baekhyun imagined the man would want to paint Wolfwood in the image of his felled Rouge Shadow. Baek initially pictured copious amounts of red velvet and gold leaf snake accessories with fussy detailing and floor to ceiling murals. However, the witch surprised him with smart, modest changes that turned out to be entirely appropriate for the space. Wolfwood has kept the majority of its mental asylum skeleton - metal, concrete, and an alarming amount of easy to wash white tile. The final aesthetic changes worked with the existing Wolfwood structures and not against it. Overall the final product - a chic take on modern industrial - totally fits without making the place look too tryhard-trendy or over the top.

“Yeah,” Baekhyun answers the other. So far nothing’s caught on fire and no riots have broken out. He’ll count it as a victory. “So far, so good.”

“Of course, the real challenge starts when classes begin in two days time,” Taemin says worriedly. The man is so blasse about everything but school. It’s fascinating to Baekhyun, how one can dance along with such effortless ease in one moment and snap into line at an instant’s notice. Baekhyun has come to realize that while Taemin doesn’t seem to take Baekhyun or Wolfwood seriously on a personal level, when it comes to the lives of the students, he’s all business.

“I’m hoping the tour of the facilities tomorrow will help ease everyone in a bit,” The warlock replies. “I think my students are just in a little bit of shock but- wh-fff-!” Out of nowhere, a bee buzzes entirely too close to Baekhyun’s face, and he hops back, yelping pathetically. “Wh- N-No, go away- shoo, bee!” He huffs at the incessant creature. The buzzing bastard stubbornly remains put, flitting about in his personal space. 

“Oh, my, is it that time already?” Taemin asks with a chuckle.

“What time?!” Baekhyun squeaks.

“The changing of the guard.”

“Huh?” The Headmister’s brows knit confusedly. He glances around the faculty dining hall, and his mouth opens into a little “O” shape when realization dawns on him. Instructors who’d been with them for the toast shuffle toward the door as others start trickling in from dining hall duty. Baekhyun and Taemin decided to send a mix of Wolfwood and Rouge Shadow teachers to supervise the students during dinner, but they wanted to assure everyone could have their celebratory glass of wine and mingle with their new fellows at some point. That, however, has nothing to do with bees. Baekhyun bats at the bumblebee fearfully, praying it’ll take the hint and take its leave. He doesn’t even know where the hell the thing came from, but the wretched insect remains completely unshaken.

“Please, do stop trying to kill Yixing’s familiar,” Taemin says.

“Wh- Who’s what now?” Baekhyun squawks.

“Oh, I suppose you haven’t met him yet. He was on first shift,” The blond replies. He speaks pointedly to the bee in a soft voice, “Would you kindly tell your master to come over here and meet the Head Warlock himself?”

“Wait- You said a- a familiar?” The warlock raises an eyebrow questioningly. It’s not uncommon for witches to have familiars. Even warlocks enlist the help of familiars though they can’t perform the contract rites without assistance. Baekhyun has come across his fair share of familiars. He’s even met people with bug familiars such as spiders or scorpions. Bees, though? That’s new. “This person’s familiar is a bee?”

The Head Witch shrugs, “Well, you see, he goes through phases of obsession really. As a child, apparently he had a cat. You know, a very normal familiar for one to have. Then he moved onto dogs. There was a poodle and a skinny little greyhound creature. The sheep phase was quite a long one. Contracted a ram, a mountain goat, a merino sheep- all kinds, really. Recently he’s been into bees. Been studying the mystic properties of royal jelly and the magical connection a queen harbors over her hive. That’s Yixing for you. Dedicated to mystic zoology, teaching and little more.”

“Huh,” Baekhyun nods. “That’s… Unique.”

“Yes, well, you know geniuses. Brilliant but a little-” Taemin makes a deranged cross-eyed face to illustrate the madness often associated with bright minds. Baekhyun wonders if he recognizes the irony in his words. Sadly, he thinks probably not.

“Right- well-”

“Hello!” A genial voice chirps. Baekhyun turns to the new entrant to the conversation, immensely grateful for the opportunity to have any legitimate company that is not the head witch. The man pushes round gold-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose and flashes the warlock a dimpled smile. Baekhyun’s black and yellow tormentor flies over to the bespectacled brunette and perches on the pocket square sticking out of his patterned suit. “I see you met my familiar.”

“Ha- Yes,” Baekhyun forces out a laugh. He supposes he understands the scholarly merits of contracting with bees, but it doesn’t really change the fact that he’s mildly terrified he’ll get stung at the slightest provocation. “That’s a new one. A bee.”

“Well, many, actually. It’s impossible to contract a single bee to be your familiar,” The man laughs. “Tried it. Learned the hard way.”

“Oh- Oh my.”

“Yeah. Don’t ever try to contract with a single bee, okay?”

“I- Um- Can’t say I ever would. But now I know, just in case.”

“Yeah, definitely do not. Unless you want the queen to send the rest of her hive after you. Whoo- that is not fun. No, you have to go through her first. Bees are package deals- Oh I’m Yixing, by the way-” The blathering witch abruptly reaches out and grab’s Baekhyun’s hand and shakes it enthusiastically. “Nice to meet you. Thank you so much for taking us in, we really appreciate it.”

“Well, us supernatural folk have to stick together,” Baekhyun replies.

“No kidding. Heh- just like bees,” Yixing’s affable smile suddenly drops, and his brows knit together. The rapid change alarms Baekhyun, and when he hears the next words out of the man’s mouth, he’s alarmed even more. “You don’t think students would mess with bee hives, do you?”

“Um, no. They would not. Why-”

“I think I forgot to establish a barrier around the hives.”

“Wh- Hives? Plural?”

“Yes. Of course. Contracting with a single hive is hardly scientific. I need a bigger sample size.”

“Yes, but, what do you mean th- the students-”

“I’ll be right back, Mister Byun!” Yixing declares with a sense of urgency. “I need to run to the courtyard.”

“The courtyard?”

“The courtyard- that’s where my bees are.”

“Wh- You set up bee hives in the courtyard? As in the courtyard through which everyone walks?” Baekhyun’s stomach drops onto the floor as he watches the man scuttle away. “M-Mr. Zhang? Yixing?”

“Don’t you love his dedication?” Taemin preens.

“Just how many bees are we talking?”

“Wh- How many? I don’t know. Maybe thirty… Sixty…”

“Thirty or sixty?”

“Thousand,” Taemin deadpans. “Thirty to sixty-thousand.”

“Wh- That man just brought tens of thousands of bees onto my campus?!”

“Oh, no, no, no,” Taemin shakes his head. “It would be much more than that, I meant thirty to sixty-thousand per hive. I believe he’s got at least a dozen hives.”

Baekhyun grips the tumbler in his hand with a vice and knocks it back, letting the pathetic excuse for an alcoholic beverage slide down his throat.

“What’s got Yixing all riled up?” Another unfamiliar person approaches them. The gentleman is smartly dressed in an impeccable suit and horn-rimmed glasses that seem to be more for show than function. Both his appearance and the way he carries himself give off the impression that he’s ready to attend an important board meeting, not teach kids how to do magic or algebra. 

“Ah,” Taemin grins, giving the man a warm smile, “Baekhyun, this is Kim Junmyeon. He teaches economics and supernatural subeconomies.”

“Nice to meet you,” Baekhyun says. Much akin to his appearance, Junmyeon shakes hands like a business man: with a firm hand and confident eye contact. Baek wonders if the man got poached from some big money investment firm in Wall Street. It wouldn’t surprise the warlock one bit.

“Pleasure’s all mine,” Junmyeon says with a grin. “We’re really grateful for what you’ve done, all of us.”

“Oh, it’s- it’s just the right thing to do,” Baekhyun responds with a shrug.

“Even if it’s right, it definitely isn’t easy. So, really, thank you,” Junmyeon says. He turns to Taemin, reiterating his original question, “But, seriously, what was Yixing going on about?”

Taemin heaves a sigh, “Oh, same thing as always. The bees.”

Junmyeon snorts, “Him and his bees.”

“I prefer the bees to the sheep. He took over two acres of the Rouge Shadow during that phase. Turned the damn place into a farm.”

The other witch laughs,“The fresh wool was a neat perk, though…”

Baekhyun’s eyes gloss over. He nods and throws in a few chuckles when it seems appropriate. Though his body is present, his mind is not. It traipses down a path lined with his anxieties regarding the upcoming year. How will the students fare? Do they resent the sudden change. No - of course they do, Baekhyun thinks. What if they want to transfer or drop out because of it? And what of the Rouge Shadow witches? Are they going to resent their Head Witch? What if they take it out on his staff - or worse, on his students? How are they going to reconcile things regarding club activities? It seems downright wasteful to allow all of them to operate independently, but how will the students feel? Will they enjoy the increase in numbers or come to resent that, too? Is he really giving them an opportunity for growth, or is he hindering it?

A figure in the distance pulls Baekhyun out of his stupor. He immediately smiles when he catches sight of the familiar, friendly face. Finally, another warlock. He and Jongin lock eyes, and the Headmister waves the other over. Jongin’s brown eyes briefly dart over to the two witches next to Baek, and the teacher animatedly winces. The Headmister, in turn, does what any dignified person would do in the situation and flashes his most pitiful set of puppy eyes. He knows it’s a low tactic and it’s far from dignified, but it does the job - that’s what counts. Baek can already feel the tension uncoil from his body as Jongin approaches.

“Hey,” Baekhyung greets the instructor warmly. He tries not to show favor for Jongin in a professional capacity, but the two go way back. Once upon a time, they walked the halls of Wolfwood as students together. Baekhyun never thought he’d miss those days - the relentless awkwardness, the studying, the grades - but having to share a school with Head Witch Lee Taemin makes him nostalgic for just about anything. “How’s it going, Jongin?”

Taemin, who had been immersed in conversation with Junmyeon, stops talking. Something like surprise flickers across his face for a few seconds before he returns to his politely smiling state. 

“Who’s this?” Taemin asks, apparently done with whatever he and Junmyeon were talking about.

Baekhyun smiles, happy to take his turn introducing someone, “Oh- This is Kim Jongin. He’s a Wolfwood instructor and old friend of mine, actually.”

“Jongin, nice to meet you,” The other warlock introduces himself genially with a little bow.

“What do you teach?” Taemin asks.

“History and Spirituality of Physicality.”

“History and- Mysticism of… I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of such a course.”

Jongin chuckles, “It’s an elective. It combines meditation with body movement flows - sometimes yoga or dancing. Things with a flexible structure or rhythm. Our bodies and physical gestures are among the primary tools with which we perform magic. So, increasing body awareness and linking it to a person’s personal magic powers helps them hone their craft- I’m- I’m sorry, I’m rambling.”

“No, that’s… That is rather unique,” Taemin actually looks pleasantly surprised.

Baekhyun giddily tacks on, “Yeah, he designed the course himself, no big deal.”

The teacher laughs sheepishly, “I just wanted there to be a good alternative to traditional physical education. Jumping over hurdles doesn’t really do much to help advance someone’s magic intelligence.”

“How clever,” The Head Witch nods, genuinely impressed.

“Oh-” Baekhyun gasps, “You came in from the dining hall, didn’t you?”

“Yeah?” Jongin replies.

“How’s it going in there? How are the students?”

Jongin’s affable smile falters slightly, and his eyes dart to the side of the room, “It, er, it’s going. No trouble so far.” Junmyeon presses his lips together in a similar display of disheartedness.

Taemin responds, “Well the Rouge Shadow witches are very well-mannered. I wouldn’t expect anything less than model etiquette from them.”

Baekhyun bristles at the implication that if anyone were to cause trouble it would be _ his _students. He doesn’t pursue the tidbit, though, instead further pressing Jongin.

“So,” The Head Warlock says to Jongin, “How are they getting along then? Do they seem happy? Angry? Sad?”

“Um,” Jongin very obviously hates being the bearer of bad news, but he also knows damn well he’s a terrible liar. “Well, nobody seems _ too _angry or sad. I mean- The students are clearly happy to see their friends after summer break.”

Baekhyun raises his brows inquisitively, “But seeing the other school’s students...?”

“Well, they are a bit, erm, segregated,” Jongin admits.

“Nothing we didn’t expect, of course,” Junmyeon adds. “After all, everyone’s getting pushed out of their comfort zones a bit. It’s natural many want to stay in their bubbles to start with. I imagine once the dust has settled, everyone will start to warm up to one another.”

“Right, of course,” Taemin replies. “Though…” He trails off, and the thoughtful tone of his voice makes Baekhyun’s gut lurch. He’s seen the expression the other is wearing before. Taemin is thinking about something, and that _ terrifies _the warlock. “Well it can’t hurt to mix the bag a bit, can it? Push them out of their bubbles a bit?” The Head Witch asks rhetorically.

“You mean like a fun activity for everyone?” Jongin posits.

Taemin grins and nods, “Yes, exactly. Something to force interaction and really make our students come together. It’s not as if they need to be skipping down the hallways hand in hand, but we’ve committed to this move. I’ve never done anything in halves and I don’t intend to start. Our students are going to live together, so they should learn to truly live _ together _. Don’t you agree, Baekhyun?”

Baekhyun’s taken aback by the solidarity sentiment. He nods in agreement, hoping he’s not wearing his shock on his face. Of course he wants all of their students to live in harmony. But, in truth, the thought of student relations was pushed to the bottom of his priorities list when he got caught in the whirlwind of renovations, meetings, finances, paperwork and faculty integration. It wasn’t until seeing them in the flesh that the reality of two completely separate student bodies coming together actually sunk in.

“Now to think of something to do for _ bonding _,” Taemin mutters, stroking his chin in thought. “Bonding, bonding, bonding…”

“Well,” Jongin chimes in, “What about our Samhain Festival Week?”

“Samhain Festival Week?” Taemin’s perfectly filled brows furrow.

“You know, festival to celebrate the transition of the seasons during which our realm resides closest to the spirit realm?”

“Of course I know what Samhain is, but a festival week?”

Baekhyun coughs, “It’s sort of a _ Wolfwood _tradition. Thing.” He gives the teacher a wide-eyed look of irritation. The Samhain Festival Week is one of the highlights of the school year and fall season for the students. While Baek doesn’t impose any offense on the witches of Rouge Shadow, he’s not positive they would particularly enjoy the tradition, either. He wants his students to be able to enjoy it without feeling pressured or awkward about it. Surely Rouge Shadow has their own set of Samhain traditions, too. The warlock sees no need to impose on that.

Jongin, apparently not getting the hint, elaborates, “We make a whole week of it chock full of events. Student clubs erect little stands around the courtyard and do fundraising, there’s the bonfire, the magics and talent exhibition, athletics competitions, themed dress-up days, and- oh- of course the dance!”

“Sounds like a lot of fun,” Junmyeon nods, impressed. 

“Yeah, well,” Baekhyun cuts in, “I’m sure you guys have fun things for the holiday, too.”

Taemin shakes his head, “We always just gave the students a few days off. Some visited their parents. Or their great grandparents. Depends on the adequacy of their spirit world communication, really.”

Baekhyun starts,“Oh-”

But Jongin cuts him off, “You guys really didn’t do anything?” The Head Witch just shrugs and nods. “Okay, well, I think the Samhain week is the perfect opportunity to promote togetherness. It’s almost entirely student-run, too. We let them run a committee and delegate and do all the footwork. We just have to make sure they don’t set stuff on fire and provide some resources. It’s a piece of cake, really.”

Junmyeon nods in approval, “Sounds like a good learning experience for the kids, too. Leadership, fund raising, project management...”

“What do you think, Baekhyun?” The blond witch asks the Head Warlock pointedly.

That comes as a surprise. 

Baekhyun’s fairly certain that’s the first time Taemin has ever combined those words in that order and posed it as an actual question. Though the witch looks genuine, Baekhyun knows damn well he’s between a rock and a hard place. At this point he _ has _ to say something nice because, honestly, the idea _ is _nice. As pleasant as the idea sounds, Baekhyun still has his doubts. He knows he should be gracious, but part of him is paranoid. He harbors the lurking fear that Taemin and the witches will take a long loved Wolfwood tradition and pervert it or somehow make it all about them. The prospect of sharing would thrill him if he had hope that reality would actually align with their ideal vision. 

Baekhyun casts a sideways glance at Jongin in hopes to find some support. However, his trusted confidant simply grins back mirthfully. Strangely enough, it manages to calm him ever so slightly. Seeing Jongin so damn happy at the idea of it motivates the Head Warlock. Baek admits to himself: his first meeting with Taemin burned him more than he initially thought. He’s not afraid of the _ witches _ taking everything over or making it worse - he’s afraid of Taemin. _ But, _it’s not fair to deprive the entire student body of an enriching experience because of the eccentricities of the Head Witch. Surely his students are nothing like him. (Baekhyun hopes to god that no other creature on earth is anything like the blond.)

“I think it’s a great idea,” Baekhyun responds with confidence.

“Well it’s settled, then,” Taemin grins widely. “A toast to witch and warlock solidarity?” He lifts his wine glass. Even though he’s talking to the whole group, Baekhyun can’t help noticing how the witch’s eyes fix onto Jongin. It happened in high school and it happens today. Even after years, Jongin manages to captivate everyone who sets eyes on him. Baekhyun feels like he really shouldn’t be surprised - it’s Jongin after all, the man’s easy on the eyes, to say the least. Regardless, Lee Taemin never once struck Baekhyun as the type to, well, have a heart? To experience human emotions like love or experiences like crushes?

A grin teases at the edge of the warlock’s lips. So he _ does _have a soul, Baekhyun laughs to himself.

The Head Warlock grins and lifts his tumbler, “Cheers.” He says. 

“Cheers.” “Cheers!” “Cheers!” The others echo. Nerves jostle in Baekhyun’s chest as he downs another mouthful of cola with too little rum. There are still so many questions floating around in his head. So many worries, anxieties, and concerns zipping around like bees. They’re so numerous and loud that Baekhyun actually hears buzzing.

Then he realizes that he hears buzzing because there are literal bees everywhere.

“Sorry!” Yixing’s voice crops up in the distance.

The Headmister glances across the room, and his jaw drops upon witnessing an angry buzzing cloud swirling above the faculty menacingly.

“Gods help us all,” Baekhyun mutters, taking another sip of his drink.


	3. Why do witches get to have special goth names?

Breakfast the next day isn’t much better. The line of separation is still stark as ever, and everyone’s come down from their first-evening-back high. Everyone’s collective exhaustion just further exacerbates the wall of awkward silence that separates witches from warlocks. At least the witches aren’t in uniform. Though the invisible barrier is very much there, it’s infinitely less stark than it was the night before. Mingi could not get to his dorm fast enough after that. Luckily, his dorm block remained the same as before. There’s a few freshmen, but everyone else stayed put, roommates and all. They had a meeting - basic dorm rules, introductions, and a few remarks about some planned activities like grounds tours and club signups. The floor proctor made a speech about being friendly with the witches, being ambassadors for Wolfwood or some shit, giving them a “warm Wolfwood welcome” (those words have been thrown around _ way too much _already). Right now, the only thing Mingi wants to welcome is coffee into his mouth.

Breakfast is overall a much looser affair than any other meal of the day. Usually, Wolfwood students come fully dressed and clamoring to throw food down their gullet before getting whipped into the whirlwind of work. It’s almost always served in a “grab and go” style to enable the flexibility of morning meetings or pre-class study sessions. 

Today, though, there are no such commitments tying down anyone. Wolfwood always allows a two-day cushion between class time and move-in. It’s a nice grace period to iron out kinks in dorm arrangements and let the instructors prep. School clubs meet and start planning for their yearly activities, and freshmen get their first taste of boarding school semi-independence. 

Most importantly: it’s a solid two days where students have zero responsibility, zero meaningful supervision, and full access to all of their gadgets.

Mingi is last to lumber over to his group’s table (surprisingly no one). He didn’t bother putting on any contacts - or even real shoes, for that matter. Waking up is hard enough. Changing out of sweats? In _ this _ economy? Mingi would never dare waste the precious resource of his morning energy on such a trifle.

“Morning,” Mingi grunts, plopping down onto the empty spot on the bench next to Yunho. He lowers his levitating tray onto the rich looking wooden table. That’s one of many “improvements” and “updates” so it seems. Their old dining room tables were of the utilitarian, easy to clean, collapsible kind. They were fine. Mingi was _ fine _ with them even though he could never quite figure out if they used to be white or if the peculiar, sickly off-white color was intended. And, sure, they genuinely _ did _ look like they belonged in a mental institution - all curved edges and attached seats (just in case a person got fun ideas about weaponizing the furniture). But they were fine! They accomplished the function that dining hall tables had to without looking like something snatched up from an old English estate sale.

“Morning.” “Good morning.” “About time you woke up.” “Morning Sleeping beauty…” A chorus of sleepy greetings come in response.

“He lives!” San exclaims with a laugh. He’d smartly opted to tuck his unkempt hair into a black beanie that matches the rest of his morning wardrobe. Damn, Mingi wishes he thought of that. “I’m actually jealous of how good you are at sleeping.”

Mingi smirks, “I’ve got nothing on Hongjoong, though.”

“Damn straight,” Hongjoong snarks back. “Wolfwood sleeping champion three years running.”

“It’s called narcolepsy,” Seonghwa says from across the bench, “And it’s a disease.”

“_You’re _ a disease,” The blue-haired senior fires back.

“I hate it when mommy and daddy fight,” Jongho deadpans.

“That’s what happens when you get into a loveless marriage,” Seonghwa says sarcastically. “Never marry someone just because they’re having your baby.”

“Wait- I’m the youngest,” Jongho gasps. “Does that mean… I’m the baby?”

“Bold of you to assume he’s yours,” Hongjoong quips.

“I _ thought _ he looked a lot like Yunho,” Hwa replies.

“I hate this family,” The self-proclaimed “baby” pouts.

Mingi laughs, busting open the yolk of the egg sitting atop his rice. Without the pressure of classes, breakfast draws out into something languorous and pleasant. Even though the redhead knows damn well suffering is just on the horizon, his heart glows. For just that brief, magical spell of time, he’s happy to be back. Whenever the eight of them are separated, it’s like half of Mingi’s family is missing. (His apparently very sordid family in which Hongjoong is his loose mum and Yunho is both a brother and also an uncle.)

In the midst of the banter, his eyes occasionally wander. From his seat, he doesn’t have to crane his neck or turn around to catch a glimpse of the witches. Their unofficially sectioned off half of the main dining hall is sparsely populated. Mingi wonders if the Rouge Shadow witches had been disciplined into adhering into early schedules. Or perhaps they just couldn’t stand the thought of sharing the area with warlocks for too long and ate quickly so they could get the hell out. Mingi’s relieved to see that the few present are dressed normally, at least. Initially, he had a nagging suspicion that they’d just be in full uniform all the time. A lot of them are dressed in stylish day clothes; Mingi spots more than a few high-end brand logos that he recognizes. There are even some in pajamas, like him - except, their pajamas are much more coordinated than the plaid pants and garish bright shirt he’d rolled out in. The witches wear their sophisticated sets and embroidered silk robes with poise and pride. A few even wear long gowns and slinky slips. Those can’t possibly abide by the dress code - right?

“-dunno man, global warming is fucking crazy. I hope it cools down quick, though,” San says.

“We’re in the pacific northwest,” Yeosang replies, “It’s gonna cool down, and then we’re all gonna be nostalgic for the happy days of melting under the sun.”

  
San groans, “Can that, like, happen faster, then? I wanna wear a sweater-”

“Hey, guys!” “What is _ up _ my dudes?”

Two familiar warlocks - one short, one taller - approach the table with friendly smiles on their faces. The taller of the two slinks onto the table cooly while the shorter, much less cool of the pair bounces excitedly, fiddling with a pile of papers in hand. Mingi raises his brows with surprise. He knows Mark and Johnny - _ everyone _ knows Mark and Johnny. They’re among the Wolfwood A-list, the most hyped, adored, high-achieving witches and warlocks in the school. For being school royalty, the two are surprisingly down to earth. 

Johnny is a fourth-year now, a human born warlock with a lot of natural talent and an obsession with filming every second of his life. Nobody knows _ how _ he manages to sneak his camera everywhere, but it’s damn impressive. His concealment spells dupe even some of the brightest teachers. Anyone who’s spoken to Johnny for more than five minutes can attest to how on-brand it is for him to use his incredible powers to shitpost on social media. He’s got the _ slightest _ hint of a bad-boy streak to him; it’s _ just _ enough to make him cool without motivating him to do anything legitimately harmful or break any _ major _ rules.

In stark contrast, his good friend Mark totally goes by the book. It wouldn’t shock Mingi if someone told him Mark helped write the proverbial book. He’d write, cite sources, annotate, and update the book. They say that if a person squints and scrutinizes Mark Lee really closely, they’ll see angel wings and a halo. He’s not so much of a goody-two-shoes that he’s a stick in the mud, but he is a very good boy. Mark Lee is the type of guy that, when you take him home to meet your family, they like _ him _ better. He’s so damn _ good _ it’s almost annoying. Except, he’s really, really nice, too - so it’s impossible to _ really _ hate him. (Mingi still does just a _ tiny _ bit.) Mingi and Mark are _ technically _ in the same year, but Mark is so damn smart he’s a year ahead of his peers academically. But he’s not one of those awkward genius types who’s all brains and no social intelligence, either. He’s in a lot of school clubs. He’s charming, funny, gracious, kind, charitable - pretty much any positive adjective a person could find in the dictionary describes him. He’s every mom’s wet dream, and if a mother doesn’t want their kid to _ be _ Mark Lee, they want them to marry him.

So why are they talking to Mingi’s modest family of eight?

“Oh.” “Hey, Mark.” “Hi.” "Oh, hi Mark." The bolder among Mingi’s squad greet back.

“You excited for the _ tours _ today?” Johnny asks with a lop-sided grin.

Mingi and Hongjoong exchange confused looks. The redhead glances across the table to see if _ anyone _ knows what the hell Johnny’s talking about. Wooyoung definitely does _ not _ . He’s counting on his fingers for some reason - does he think math is involved? Hongjoong’s brows are knit together and the tips of his lips dip down while Seonghwa sits next to him wearing a completely vacant expression. Yeosang’s mouth hangs open dumbly next to him, a transparent display of bafflement that’s unprecedented for him. Mingi _ knows _ that San is clueless, but he’s shocked to observe that even Jongho is lost. It isn’t until he glances right next to him - at Yunho - do the gears in his deep crimson head start turning. The blond’s lips are pressed together, and his pupils flit nervously from the table to the other warlocks standing beside it.

“I just wanna thank you guys again for signing up,” Mark beams, his smile blinding. “I know this year is gonna be, like, super awesome. We just have to take a few steps to reach out is all.”

San eyes Mingi from across the table, mouthing out “what is he talking about?” worriedly.

“So!” Mark claps happily, “Here are your little _ dossiers- _” The papers in his hands float out one by one, each gracefully setting itself down next to each place setting.

Mingi furrows his brows as he scrutinizes the piece of paper sitting next to his tray. The bold print on top reads:

> **WOLFWOOD WELCOME COMMITTEE**
> 
> **TOUR GUIDE INFORMATION**

Without thinking, the redhead grunts, “Wolfwood _ what _ now-” 

“-your groups are all going to be noon tours. We’re gonna meet _ there- _” Mark continues his spiel giddily, obviously too enthusiastic to notice Mingi’s confusion. Or anyone else’s apparently. The clever warlock holds up his own “dossier” as he called it, pointing to the courtyard on a map of the grounds. “-in the courtyard. We’d like our guides to arrive at least fifteen minutes early. You’ll touch base with your mentors- that’s here on the paper-” Mark points again, and in spite of his complete and utter perturbation regarding the situation, Mingi follows the prompt. He glances at the aforementioned section of the paper where, just under the bold text, a block of information tells him:

> **GROUP**: Z
> 
> **MENTOR**: Tchr. Jongin Kim
> 
> **TOUR GUIDES**: Jeong Yunho, Song Mingi
> 
> **ATTENDANCE**:
> 
> ▢ Kim Ravn Youngjo
> 
> ▢ Kim <strike>Gunmin</strike> Seoho
> 
> ▢ Kim Leedo Gunhak
> 
> ▢ Lee Keonhee
> 
> ▢ Son Xion Dongju
> 
> ▢ Yeo Hwanwoong

“Oh, nice, I got Teacher Jongin,” Yunho remarks happily. Unfortunately, nobody else can really relate to Yunho’s enthusiasm. They’re too busy engaging in a nonverbal conversation wrought with a wide range of emotions from vexation to dread.

“-then,” Mark continues, “-they also will meet with the mentors. You’ll do, like, a guided pow-wow thing-”

“Are we gonna have to do, like, ice breakers?” Yeosang asks, his voice a strained, sad sounding peep.

“_ Obviously _ ,” Johnny answers. Mingi wonders if Johnny’s enjoying their dismay or if he just very much _ appears _ to be. One can never tell with his smile. “How else are we gonna get to know one another?” Yeosang doesn’t respond with words but instead a pained squeak.

Mark ignores it, moving forward with his spiel, “But, like, after that bit you’ll be set loose with your witch group. That way it’s a student to student thing so it’s, like, more personal-”

“Why are there so many of them?” Hongjoong interjects.

  
“I’m sorry- what?” Mark keeps smiling, but his friendly veneer cracks ever so slightly.

“That’s a three to one ratio,” Joong gestures to his paper.

“Well, there weren’t, like, _ that many _ signups, but we didn’t want to send just one person to do the tour. That’s a lot of pressure.”

“But what if something happens?” Hongjoong posits. “They totally outnumber us-”

Johnny quirks an eyebrow, “What do you _ think _ is going to happen?”

“So!” Yunho interjects, “Like, what else is there to it?”

Mark happily ignores Hongjoong’s grim rhetorical in favor of Yunho’s more direct question, “Not much. Your tour route is mapped out on the back of the paper, and the little hour counter’s got an enchantment so once it begins you’ll have a timer. You’ll touch base with your mentor again and then go on with your day. I mean, honestly, you probably won’t even take the full hour.”

Hongjoong snaps, “But we didn’t-”

“Thanks, guys!” Yunho waves furiously. “See you in the courtyard later!”

“Cool,” Johnny gots off of the table and waves.

“Awesome! Thanks so much again, guys. Later!” Mark bids farewell and scurries off to another table.

“No,” Hongjoong declares once they’re out of earshot, his tone clipped. He shakes his head. “No. I am not spending one of my first days back giving a campus tour. We’ve gotta go tell ‘em that this is a fuckup.”

Seonghwa shrugs, “I guess I can use this to pad my scholarship applications.”

“Wh- How the fuck did we get signed up for this shit?” Wooyoung whines.

Yeosang hums, “They passed around the list last night, right? During all the dorm talks?”

“Yeah,” San nods, “I didn’t touch it though.”

“I didn’t either,” Jongho shrugs.

Mingi glances at Yunho. The guy has a lot of great qualities, but a good poker face isn’t one of them. His ears are the same color as Mingi’s hair, and his lips are pressed tightly shut.

“Yunho,” Mingi says, leaning so far forward his pointed nose nearly brushes the other cheek. “Yunho.”

“What-?” Yunho laughs.

“_ Yunho _,” The redhead makes a move to bite the other’s ear.

“Ok, so maybe I signed us all up!” Yunho says.

“What?” “What the fuck?!” “Are you serious?” “This is a prank, right?” “Wh-” “Hold up-”

  
“I- I was gonna tell you guys once we all started eating breakfast!” The blond scratches his nape sheepishly.

“What the fuck, Yunho?!” Hongjoong cries. The rest of the noise flatlines, and tensity lays on top of the group like a thick, heavy blanket.

Yunho’s eyes go wide, and he bites down on his lip nervously, “I just thought it’d be a good way to get to know them.”

For a second, all anyone does is watch Hongjoong. Red creeps up his neck, and he wrings his tiny hands in his lap. Nobody dares say a word lest they be next on the chopping block for a verbal lashing. Hongjoong lets out a long breath, releasing all the breath that had inadvertently gotten pent up in his lungs. Then, he leaps over the table.

Suspending just centimeters above everyone’s food, Hongjoong reaches out and grabs Yunho’s cheeks, squeezing and stretching forcefully, “You’re lucky that you’re my favorite,” He tells the other through gritted teeth.

“Ow- I- I sowweh-” Yunho weakly bats at their leader’s hands. Everyone else heaves a collective sigh.

The relief doesn’t last, though. Not long after Hongjoong is done abusing Yunho’s cheeks, it dawns on Mingi that he’s going to be tasked with spending almost an hour with the strange, intimidating witches of RSA. His stomach starts twisting itself into knots at the thought of it.

* * *

The sun sits high in the sky by the time Yunho and Mingi arrive at the courtyard for their tour. Witches and warlocks alike bathe in the warmth on the lawn. Some stretch out languidly on blankets and nap while others curl up under trees with books. Mingi has to admit, even pre-makeover, Wolfwood did a good job of transforming the old mental asylum into somewhere welcoming. The main complex surrounds the courtyard, and it used to entirely enclose the area. Thankfully, the Wolfwood founders saw fit to blow out some of the original lobby to allow the space to open into the outer grounds. Brick paths cut through the lawn to connect the sides of the building; they’re a lovely excuse to go outside during the mild months of summer and a _ bitch _ when it’s the best way to make a tight connection between classes in winter. Beside them are trees of all kinds: maple, birch, juniper, oaks, and towering firs. They turn beautifully in the fall, and the evergreens become downright idyllic when snow settles on them during the winter season. Now with the Rouge Shadow “contributions” (aka: money), the green space is even cozier with levitating stair seating and benches.

“It’s a beautiful day,” Mingi sighs.

“I know!” Yunho says cheerily.

“I didn’t mean that as a good thing,” The redhead sulks. 

  
“What? Why not?”

“Yunho, I get what you were trying to do, but this isn’t exactly how I envisioned my first day back.”

“Mingi,” The blond rolls his eyes, “This is gonna be an hour, tops. Then you have plenty of time before dinner to sleep.”

“Wh- What makes you think I was gonna sleep?”

“I know you,” Yunho quips.

  
Mingi pouts, and he can’t help but watch the people snoozing away on the lawn enviously. That could be him, but Yunho’s playing. The pair head toward the flock of students and teachers in the distance and search for their mentor. Teacher Jongin is easy to spot, thankfully. The handsome teacher cast a light spell to display a glowing “Z” just above his head. Mingi waves to familiar faces as he and Yunho wade through the crowd to reach their supervisor.

The redhead spots Hongjoong in the distance, arms crossed tightly around his body with indignance. Wooyoung, his apparent tour guide partner, orbits the senior anxiously. Mingi can’t hear him, but judging by Woo’s animated expressions, he’s trying his damndest to cheer up their pissed leader. Mingi can’t see who Yeosang is with - actually, he can barely see Yeosang at all. The guy’s so damn shy, he has a tendency to disappear when he’s embarrassed. Literally. He’s one of those users who’s emotions are so closely linked with his emotions that shit just happens around him all the time. It doesn’t help that he refuses to express his emotions nine times out of ten. It’s almost like they have no choice but to come out in the manifestation of his powers.

“Yunho, Mingi, over here!” Teacher Jongin waves the two third years over when he notices them.

“Hello.” “Hi, teacher.”

Mr. Kim smiles at the to warmly, and Mingi feels nerves uncoil a bit. He’s by far one of the kindest - if not _ the _ kindest - teacher in the entire school. Students fight to get enrollment in his courses and his desk is constantly decorated with some sort of token of gratitude. Mingi has seen everything from apples to flowers, chocolates, bottles of wine, confession letters from students, homemade side dishes, confession letters from _ parents _. Anyone with any semblance of a soul and functioning eyeballs - hell, even a blind person - can understand why. Mingi had him for a class first semester of second year and he still cherishes those memories dearly. Teacher Jongin, smiling kindly, making lame jokes, bending over to pick something up off the ground every time one of the more audacious students knocked something over with a spell on the down low. Man, that class rocked.

“How are you doing? You excited?” The teacher asks.

Mingi’s mouth opens, but all he can muster is a weak, “Uh-”

“Kinda nervous,” Yunho admits.

“There’s no need to be, okay? They’re witches, not dogs. They don’t bite.”

“You don’t know that,” Mingi mumbles. He wishes they were dogs. That’d be awesome. Just giving a grounds tour to a bunch of puppies. Vivid visions of happy pups with wagging tails fill Mingi’s mind, and for a brief, blissful moment he’s living in that world - the world where he’s spending his afternoon walking adorable, fluffy dogs.

“What was that?”

  
“Nothing!” The redhead replies with a tightlipped grin.

“Teacher, how is this supposed to go?” Yunho asks.

“You guys have your papers, right?”

Mingi and Yunho nod.

“It’s simple, really. Just check off the witches for attendance and show them a good time.”

Mingi wonders if his teacher understands the connotation of what “showing them a good time” is. He opts not to comment on it, though, and lets Yunho ask the questions.

“We have to come back here, though, right?” The blond asks.

Jongin nods, “Yeah. We’re just gonna go through some introductions - super basic, I- I know, I’m sorry, I see the look on your face, Mingi.”

“Sorry, I- I’m not- I didn’t mean to make a face,” Heat flushes the redhead’s cheeks until they almost match.

“No, I get it,” The teacher says graciously. “I really do. I have met almost all of the Rouge Shadow faculty and staff in the past few days. We have all had a _ wealth _ of introductions, and there’s gonna be more to come when classes start. So, trust me, I get it.” He speaks with such sincerity that it’s clear he’s not just saying shit to play the reassuring teacher role. It melts Mingi’s heart a little. He starts wondering if Jongin will be single in a few years after Mingi’s graduated. Would he consider taking an ex-student out? Having a one night stand perhaps? Becoming friends with benefits then accidentally lapsing into catching feelings for the ex-student? _ Marrying _ them? 

“Right,” Mingi chokes out.

Mr. Kim continues, “So, yeah. They’ll come here, I’ll lead some getting-to-know-you discussion, then I’ll send you on your way. Just be back before the hour’s up. We’ve had a few rounds of tours, and from what I’ve seen most people get back in about forty-five to fifty minutes.”

“Cool.” “Okay.” Mingi and Yunho nod to one another.

The teacher glances behind the two third-years, his gaze searching, “They’ll probably be here any minute- these kids are punctual. So, um, if you have any, like, questions for them, try and have them ready?”

“Uh-” “Right.” “Okay.” The young warlocks mumble.

The two putz around, shifting their weight from foot to foot and making smalltalk with their teacher to pass the time. Tension mounts with every second that ticks by. Mingi forces himself to talk to Yunho, impulsively blurting out whatever’s on his mind in hopes that it’ll help him shake the jitters squirming around in his stomach. 

It doesn’t.

The brief duration goes by in a flash yet simultaneously drags on at an agonizingly sluggish pace. However, the arrival of the Rouge Shadow witches is inevitable. Soon enough, the well dressed flock of RS students arrive. Mingi’s relieved they didn’t show up in suits, at least. That doesn’t stop him from feeling sloppy in his oversized Wolfwood tee and jeans. Of course the Rouge Shadow witches know how the dress. Why wouldn’t they? With the amount of money most of them come from, they have no excuse to have bad style. At that point, perfection isn’t an aspiration - it’s an inevitability.

“Oh- I think I see them,” Teacher Jongin says with a smile. He waves toward a group of young men heading in their direction.

Mingi’s entire body temporarily petrifies like a prey animal trying not to get seen by their predator. They look… Normal. But better. Is that a thing? Mingi ponders. Normal but better. By sight alone the bunch are unassuming, just six well-groomed young men dressed in stylish clothing. It’s the _ aura _ that sets the alarm bells in Mingi’s brain off. Maybe it’s the way they walk, heads held high, resting gazes cool and aloof. Maybe their magical presence is truly so strong that even a spiritually stunted warlock can sense them. Or maybe Mingi’s just a coward with an inferiority complex. It could be anything, really.

The redhead tries to tackle his fear by smiling at the approaching group. He prays he doesn’t look constipated or like he’s about to cry as he briefly scans the group. They’re a motley crew. Different heights, hair colors, features and vibes. The one with blue hair comes off cold as ice while an understated passion smolders from within the taller redhead. The quietest of them all, a blond with a stone cold expression on his faces, evokes the feeling of something solid - a wall, or maybe the earth itself. Something stable and immovable. Then there’s one with black hair - black everything, actually. Black hair, black shirt, black pants, black leather belt. The ordinary color by no means diminishes the insane amount of pure swagger radiating off of him. Mingi’s already jealous. Confident swagger is a quality Mingi always wishes he had. He tries to embody and evoke it, but he ends up feeling sort of like a jackass. They say “fake it ‘til you make it”, but he feels like no amount of trying has gotten him closer to being cool. There’s a more broody looking one with dark hair, too. The smile teasing at the edges of his lips make him look like he’s holding back a laugh. Is something funny?

Mingi’s smile drops when he sees the sixth one.

A familiar head of lilac hair crops out from behind, beneath all the rest. The memory of the assembly the day before flashes through Mingi’s head. That petite figure, the button nose and bedroom eyes - the traumatic moment permanently imprinted the witch’s appearance into Mingi’s brain. Even though lilac-hair is wearing ripped jeans and a patterned shirt like a regular person, he’s no less intimidating.

Mingi gulps nervously. Sweat already begins to clam up the palms of his hands when the remainder of group Z arrives. Their collective presence exudes an overwhelming aura, and Mingi can barely hear Teacher Jongin’s introductions over the nervous buzzing in his ears. The redhead just nods numbly when Mr. Kim points out that, yes, this is Mingi, and he’ll be one of your tour guides today. Mingi even manages to say hello of his own volition, throwing out the best facsimile of a charming smile he can muster at the moment.

Just as he warned, Teacher Jongin guides them through introductions and lays out a few ground rules. Mingi nods along, desperately trying to shake off the unsettling feeling that he’s being watched.

* * *

“- and they say that hundreds of patients died in the woods trying to escape!” Yunho says cheerily. He waves. Over to the treeline that leads into the thick forest surrounding the grounds. Group Z is nearing its conclusion, having reached the outer reaches of the back campus. The eight students hike along the edge of the football field beyond which there’s just open lawn and a few gardens before the woods. Mingi counts the minutes, non-verbally trying to urge Yunho to go faster. Mingi’s tried everything he can save for making the universal choking sign. Unfortunately, Yunho’s too damn friendly and earnest. He doesn’t do anything in halves - not even giving tours to random witches who’ll be using their campus facilities for a year.

“Jesus-“ One of the witches - Seoho, if Mingi recalls - winces. “How the hell do you study with all of that noise?”

“Huh?” Mingi grunts dumbly without thinking.

“The spirits,” Blue-haired Keonhee - Keonhee? Gunhee? No, definitely the first one, Mingi reminds himself - _ that one _, with the blue hair and eyes, he answers. “There’s so many restless souls.”

“Uhm-“ “Well…” Mingi and Yunho exchange worried looks.

“They don’t bother us much,” Yunho says. “We, uh, stay out of their way, they stay out of ours. We’re not supposed to go in there.”

“Have you ever been in there, Yunho?” Aptly named Ravn asks with a smirk.

“Me? Hell no,” Yunho chuckles, his ears tinting red. A twinge of guilt twists in Mingi’s stomach. The warlock has basically shirked all tour guide and conversational engagement responsibilities to Yunho. He tries to shoulder some responsibility and dares to speak.

“Yeah,” The redhead remarks, “Those witches are hella cursed. There’s usually a few dumbasses who’ll walk in during night on a dare, but it doesn’t end well.”

“Oh? What do you mean by doesn’t end well?” Ravn apparently likes, that, brows raising with interest. It’s the most engaged any of the witches have looked for the entire tour, and Mingi’s happy to latch onto the affable civility and roll with it.

“Well, most people don’t make it more than, like, ten, maybe twenty feet past the trees before they shit themselves. I, personally, have a keen sense of self preservation, so I don’t even go near the treeline. But, from what I’ve heard, there’s like this oppressive malice that just wraps around you like a thick fog. People say it’s suffocating, like they can’t breathe, and they get disoriented super easily.”

The other redhead in the group, Xion, asks in a low voice,“Wait, so, like, have any students died?”

“Mm. There are rumors that the school’s covered up one or two disappearances. I’m sure as hell not going in to find out.”

The witches snicker at the remark. At first, a shot of elation rushes through Mingi’s veins. Yes! Finally! Successful social interaction! The ever so emphasized mixing happening, right before Mingi’s very eyes. However, their laughter goes on a tad longer than he feels comfortable with, and he swears he hears whispers behind him. His paranoia spikes, rapidly snuffing out the little glimmer of happiness he got.

“So, um, your school have any, like, old legends or anything?” Mingi coughs awkwardly.

The witches exchange looks, and a few of their grins drop. Shit. Mingi realizes he just asked about their school that burned down. It’s probably a touchy subject. He mentally berates himself and prays they won’t be mad at him for his lack of tact.

“Nothing really,” The black-haired Ravn answers. “Just your run of the mill spirits walking the halls. You know how it is.”

Mingi nods dumbly even though, no, he does not know how it is. The only spirits he’s known to reside in or around the school proper are annoying poltergeists. He remembers a few past incidents where the bothersome pests pulled students’ hair or tripped them. They’re always petty, throwing things around like a kid having a tantrum. He definitely hasn’t seen any manifestations. He’s pretty sure there has to be some meaningful contact or invocation for that to happen, but Wolfwood’s primarily made up of warlocks. Warlocks can’t commune with the spirit realm in any profound way. Surely, they know that, right?

“Question!” The ice-cold blue-haired one, Keonhee, raises his hand primly.

“H-Hm?” Mingi raises his brows inquisitively. “Oh, what is it?”

Keonhee’s eyes shift from Mingi to the blond next to him, and he asks bluntly: “This has been bothering for a minute, but, like what _ are _you?”

Mingi halts abruptly, bumping into Yunho in the process. The blond squints, tilting his head confusedly. Apparently, there’s a joke that they’re not in on, because in spite of their (rather lackluster) efforts to suppress it, a spell of hushed laughter erupts from the others.

“Oh my god, Keonhee,” Seoho snorts, “You can’t just ask someone what they _ are _.”

“I’m sorry,” Yunho answers sincerely, “I don’t think I understand the question-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Mingi cuts Yunho off, his voice more clipped than he’d intended. A pang of irritation stings in his chest. Maybe it’s intuition, maybe it’s overprotectiveness. Whatever it is, that ill sensation signals Mingi that it’s time to swerve the subject and finish the tour. Fast. “We’re almost finished, so-”

Keonhee obstinately continues, “I mean, like, how do you hide your aura so well?”

“How do I what?” Yunho answers.

The redhead sputters, “That’s-”

“I’m just asking: are you a witch or a warlock?” Keonhee points the question directly at Yunho.

  
The blond’s ears tint red, and Mingi presses his lips together, searching for a civil way to diffuse the noxious direction the conversation is taking.

Yunho - sweet, kind, friendly Yunho - answers obligingly, completely oblivious of the way the witches watch him with entirely too much giddy malevolence, “I’m- I’m a warlock.” The last bit comes out weak, more a weak mumble than an audible word.

Keonhee’s eyes narrow, “Really? Because you have, like, no magical presence whatsoever.”

“Uh-” The blond keeps a smile on his in spite of his clear embarrassment. Mingi wracks his brain for diplomatic, non-confrontational ways to diffuse the tension, but he can’t. He chides himself for being so brain dead, so damn inept at stuff like this. Whenever he’s put on the spot, he freezes up, and even when his friend’s getting laughed at, the same happens. Yunho elaborates kindly, “I was born to humans. I- I’m definitely not the most magical-”

“So you’re a manikin,” Keonhee says bluntly. Mingi catches the others, now behind him, wearing constipated expressions in a shoddy attempt to hold back full-on laughter. He wants to kill them, but shock and vexation just sort of cement his mouth shut.

Yunho lets out a dry laugh, “Um, yeah, I mean I guess you could say that.” It’s so obvious he’s trying to put up a strong front.

“Wait, seriously?” Ravn asks. Mingi wants to smack the smirk off of his face. “You’re a manikin?”

“I prefer warlock-in-progress,” Yunho answers lightheartedly. Mingi wants to add something, to tell them how much he’s improved, how he can do things most other manikins could only dream of because of his determination, but he’s afraid that’ll just make the witches laugh more. The last thing he wants to do is patronize Yunho or add fuel to the fire. A couple of the witches guffaw, while one actually hides his face.

“So, wait,” Keonhee responds, “Why are you even here?”

“Huh?” Yunho grunts.

Keonhee responds, “I mean- you said you were human born? And with your magic abilities- What made you choose a magic school in the first place? Why not just go to public school like a normal human?”

Xion snickers, “D’you read a lot of those wizard books growing up?”

Yunho presses his lips together, and his face flushes even more deeply. Mingi opens his mouth - he doesn’t have a plan on what to say, but at this point he’s just about had it with the whole civility thing. Witch-warlock solidarity be damned.

“I came here for the same reason a lot of people did,” Yunho answers kindly. It’s painfully clear this isn’t the first time he’s gotten questions like this, and Mingi’s heart dips just thinking of it. “Stuff happened around me that I couldn’t explain. Strange things.”

“Oh, really, like what?” Keonhee asks.

“Just weird stuff. Hearing voices whisper to me. Animals acting strange. Sometimes the candles at church would go out for no reason,” Yunho shrugs. “So, I looked into the stuff. Explored it. My parents were nice enough to let me kind of take ownership, and I found this place.”

“This place? Like Wolfwood?” Ravn asks. “Do they just accept anyone who-”

“Shut _ up _,” Mingi’s eyes widen in shock to hear the words come from another witch. It’s the lilac-haired one, Hwanwoong. The one who, in spite of his height, carries an air of immense intimidation without saying a word. Hwanwoong flashes Yunho a little grin, “I think it’s nice that there are schools who accept all kinds.”

Mingi’s brows knit. Perhaps it’s just the lilac-haired witch’s demeanor - or is it his tone? Or, maybe it’s his overall natural disposition - the unwavering gaze, the way his head is always held high, how he’s so petite but walks like he’s six feet tall. Something about the way he “reassures” Yunho isn’t all that reassuring.

“Yeah, of course,” Ravn answers. He’s still got a little grin that makes Mingi think he’s up to no good, but he opts not to comment. “Keep doing you, Yunho.” The other witches chuckle a bit, but aside from that nobody else makes any comments about Yunho’s “magical presence” or anything, really. Tension hangs around the group in a thick cloud, eventually smothering any motivation to make even superficial conversation. Mingi makes sure to show his friend appreciation the best way he knows how, by slinging an arm around his shoulders and squeezing tight. They walk like that, side by side, until reaching the courtyard again. 

  
Teacher Jongin greets them excitedly, asking if they liked it, how it went, did they learn anything new. Mingi wonders if the instructor can feel the animosity between them. He thinks Mr. Kim’s one of the smartest, most emotionally intelligent teachers he’s ever met in his life. Even so, there’s this funny thing about teachers. No matter how intelligent and well-meaning they are, they never seem to pick up on stuff like bullying or ill-will until it’s laid out in front of them plainly. At least Mr. Kim’s the type who would _ believe _a student if they spoke to him about their issues. Too many are quick to dismiss issues as something they ought to “talk out”, “settle between themselves”, or, even worse, “stop making a big deal out of”. 

If Teacher Jongin can sense the strained malice between the witches and warlocks, he sure as hell doesn’t give any indication. It’s fine, Mingi thinks. It’s better that way, actually. Nobody likes getting teachers involved. On the off chance that they do really hear someone out about bullying, more often than not they fuck it up and make it worse. 

The warlocks wave goodbye to the witches and practically sprint in the opposite direction. Mingi tries to give Yunho words of encouragement, but the older one isn’t hearing it.

“It’s fine,” He says. “It’s fine” - that’s what Yunho always says. He smiles and bears it. He shoulders too much, Mingi thinks (though he doesn’t say). Yunho works three times harder than anyone but has less than a third to show for it. Mingi knows it bothers his best friend, he knows it. But any time he mentions it, “it’s fine” - the rhetorical door is slammed in his face.

Things go back to normal, and the two warlocks go back to enjoying their day off with their friend group as intended. The group regales their thrilling tales of the tours. Hongjoong makes gagging noises and Yeosang talks about how he wanted to throw himself into the woods. Yunho doesn’t talk about what the witches said, and Mingi decides it’s not his place to mention it. They play football and talk about what clubs they want to sign up for.

They enjoy one another’s company, eating, playing, and savoring their time off until the wee hours of the next morning. Soon, all of them will be bogged down with responsibilities - classes, exams, clubs, and even university applications for the fourth years. 

  
So Mingi cherishes those precious moments while he can, until the prolonged night finally takes its toll on him, and he falls into a deep, restful sleep.

* * *

“-up! Wake up, wake up, wake up! SONG MINGI GET YOUR ASS UP!”

Mingi wakes with a jolt, tangling himself up in his sheets. The urgent yelling delivers a sudden shock to his system, sending his heartrate skyrocketing.

“Wh- Wh- Wha-?! What’s going on?” Mingi squints to better discern the blur that’s currently shaking him by the shoulders violently.

“Mingi!” The blur - it’s Hongjoong, it’s definitely Hongjoong - shouts.

“Wha- What time is it?” Another blur (Yeosang, Mingi thinks) throws open Mingi’s curtains. The flood of light into his vision makes the lanky warlock wince. “What the f-”

“Shit,” Another smear - San, it’s definitely San - hisses.

“What’s with the party?” Mingi paws at his side table in search of his glasses. When he finally throws the round specs on his face, he can clearly see everyone in the room. There’s San - they’re roommates, so that’s not a surprise. San must’ve let Hongjoong and Yeosang in.

“Get dressed, now!” Hongjoong shouts. The senior frantically throws open one of Mingi’s drawers, tossing the first thing he grabs at the third-year.

“Wha- What is going on?” Sleep stubbornly clings to Mingi’s body, weighing his limbs down and gumming up the works of his brain. “They doing french toast sticks for breakfast or something?”

“No, dumbass,” Hongjoong panickedly grabs another garment - a shirt to go with the sweats he’d thrown at Mingi. “This is for real.”

The redhead’s mouth drops open dumbly, “Wh- Yeo? San? Can- can you-”

Yeosang frowns and nods, “It’s Yunho, Mingi.”

“Wh- Yunho?” Mingi’s face scrunches with confusion, and he glances at Joong, “He’s your roommate, Joong. What’s up with him?”

Hongjoong halts his hyperactive outfit coordination frenzy and heaves a sigh. Now that he’s got his glasses on, Mingi can clearly tell just how upset the senior is. Worry grips the redhead’s heart in a vice.

“Joong,” Mingi says more quietly, “Joong what’s going on?”

The senior presses his lips together, gaze cast to the ground, “I- I don’t know. I woke up, and Yunho was gone.”

“Wh- How do you know he didn’t just have something to do early? He jogs, doesn’t he?”

“No, no, I- I- okay, he-” Hongjoong takes a deep breath and starts again, meeting Mingi’s eyes straight on, “I woke up, and I look over and Yunho’s bed is missing. Just- just gone.”

“His… Bed?” Mingi searches the others’ faces in hopes of some clarification. He wonders if his hearing’s impeded by his sleepiness or something.

Yeosang frowns, elaborating, “I saw. Joong ran to mine and Hwa’s room first thing. There’s nothing there. I mean- Yunho’s stuff is there, but his bed is totally gone. And, of course, he’s gone with it.”

“Wait- what?!”

Hongjoong nods, “Yeah, I- I don’t get it either. I tried to find him by his aura, but nothing. But that’s just- that doesn’t just _ happen _, Mingi. We need to go look for him. Now.”

“Uh- Um, okay,” Mingi responds dazedly, swinging his legs over the side of his bed. His mind reels, laggard from drowsiness. He still can’t quite wrap his head around it. How did Yunho (and his bed) just disappear in the middle of the night? How did Hongjoong not notice?

* * *

Soft chirping and trilling drifts into Yunho’s ears, underlined by a low hum. He stretches on his bed languidly, turning over and nestling his face more snugly against his pillow. Taking a deep breath, the scent of damp earth and dead leaves tickles his nose. His lips upturn into a slight grin, utterly content to be enveloped in the verdant fragrance and peaceful sounds of nature. Light trickles through his eyes, and he winces. An unwelcome intrusion on his peaceful rest. The blond throws his blanket over his head and squeezes his eyes to snuff out the light.

The bird’s song grows louder, more busy, and others respond to the calls, joining with their own distinct chirrups and warbles. Rapid knocking on wood nearby signals the presence of a woodpecker, and not too far away Yunho makes out the distinct chattering of a squirrel.

His eyes open.

Why does he hear a squirrel?

And a dozen birds, for that matter?

Sure, the song of the morning larks occasionally trickles through his window, but they never sound this loud and this sharp. Slowly, Yunho slides his blanket down.

His eyes blow wide open, and he chokes on the gasp in his throat. Reflexively, he throws his blanket back over his face, like that’ll help. 

Obviously, it doesn’t.

Yunho wills himself to calm down. He takes a few deep breaths before coming out from the shelter of his duvet once more. When he emerges he fills his lungs with the crisp morning air. He has to blink a few times before he adjusts to the morning sunlight. Misty fog drifts up from the damp forest floor, exaggerating the streaks of light and shadow drawn by the filtering of light through the foliage.

Yunho clutches at his sheets to vent his steadily increasing anxiety.

“Hello?” He asks. His voice echoes through the thick forest. Swallowing nervously, he calls out again, more loudly, “Hello?”

He bites down on his lip, and his knuckles go white as he grips his sheets worriedly. 

“A-anybody?” Yunho calls out. He goes over the past twenty-four hours, trying to figure out just when the hell he ended up out here - how the hell he ended up out here. In the middle of the cursed woods. Alone. 

He can’t recall, though. The last thing he remembers is going to sleep in his room after exchanging summer stories with his friends.

“This isn’t funny,” Yunho says weakly, just in case anyone’s listening. He can’t tell if anyone is. He can’t tell much of anything, really. The fog is thick, and the trees all look the same - tall, brown with leaves. Leaves rustle loudly near the foot of Yunho’s bed, and he panics, clinging to his blanket for dear life.

“H-Hello?” He calls out again, eyes wet and voice thick with desparation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> // can we get an F in the chat for jeong yunho?
> 
> edit: added The Room reference after reading over and noticing a missed opportunity


	4. Declaration of war

“Hey,” Seonghwa slides onto the bench next to Mingi with a frown. “I got nothing.” 

The group decided to do a lightning fast breakfast before embarking on their search. No doubt someone would’ve picked up his aura or he would’ve turned up by now if he was nearby. But he hasn’t. The longer that Yunho’s gone, the more stress and anxiety knot Mingi’s insides. Where the  _ fuck  _ is he? It’s not like him to just up and disappear. Even if he did have a tendency to wander off, that would do nothing to explain the disappearance of his bed. Yeosang posited that perhaps his powers had manifested in his sleep, and he’d somehow managed to teleport himself elsewhere. It could happen, Mingi supposes. It seems  _ highly  _ unlikely with Yunho’s abilities, though. He’s been working at levitation for years, and he can barely lift a melon. 

“Not even a trace?” Hongjoong asks, distraught. Hwa shakes his head grimly. “Shit,” The blue-haired senior hisses, impaling his yogurt parfait angrily with his spoon.

Yeosang worries at his lower lip, “Maybe we should ask a teacher? There are witches here, too, now. They could consult some of the spirits or something.”

“What?!” Hongjoong gasps.

“Hell no,” San huffs.

“Okay, look,” Yeosang says, “If we can’t even pick up a slight scent, maybe we’re in over our heads. Why not just take the L and ask someone qualified?”

“We haven’t even searched the grounds yet,” Hongjoong says, “We’ve just been in the main school building. We’ll probably find him… Somewhere.” Yeo raises his brows incredulously but doesn’t press their already stressed leader.

The table falls quiet after that, a thick cloud of dismay hanging over their heads. It’s a strange, unusual mood that Mingi in no way wants to get used to. Typically, when things get quiet, it’s because someone’s struggled with school stress or got rejected by a crush. In those cases, Yunho was always the one to lift the entire group up. But he’s not there now. He’s who knows where. Is he safe? Is he afraid? Is he still asleep?

Mingi’s guts roil as the tense silence between the friend group thickens to something near suffocating. The question buzzes ceaselessly through his head like a persistant fly. How the hell did Yunho just disappear? Maybe his powers did awaken? Did he transport somewhere? What if the specters that haunt the grounds spirited him away?

Spirits.

Immortal entities that warlocks can only interact with in the most superficial of ways. What interest would such beings have in Jeong Yunho? A boy with such feeble magical powers that basic telekinesis is a great effort for him? He’s just a “warlock-in-progress” as he likes to put it. Not a witch.

Not.

A.

Witch. 

The gears in Mingi’s head start turning, and pieces slot into pace at an alarming rate.

They  _ wouldn’t _ \- would they? Would the wretched witches they’d been in the company of for _ not an hour  _ have really done something so cruel to poor Yunho?

“-e can split up, you guys go northwest. Jongho and I can take northeast and-”

“Wait,” Mingi aprubtly interrupts Hongjoong’s planning. The senior flashes him a wide-eyed glare, but the redhead ignores it. “I think I have an idea about how this happened.”

“What?” Joong huffs. “And you didn’t tell us?”

“Why didn’t you tell us earlier?” Jongho gripes.

“Yeah, what the hell man?” Wooyoung adds.

Mingi holds his hands up defensively, “Hey, I- I just remembered this right now, okay? But me and Yunho, we- I- there were this witches-”

“Witches?” Hongjoong’s tone predictably drops into something dark. Irate.

Mingi tries to ignore the fact that he’s adding fuel to a fire that’s scarcely under control as is, “Yeah. When we gave the tour. One of them kinda called Yunho out, and they gave him some shit for it.”

“Of  _ course  _ they did,” Joong responds, tone dripping with venom.

“Yeah, I mean- I didn’t pay it much mind. Obviously Yunho didn’t want to- you know how he is,” Heat stings Mingi’s cheeks, and guilt pulls at his heart, tugging it down into his stomach. He should’ve said something. He should’ve done something. He should’ve told them to fuck off, let them know what happens when they give Jeong Yunho shit.

But he didn’t.

He was gutless. Eager to avoid confrontation. Pathetic.

Hongjoong would’ve said something. San, Jongho, Seonghwa, Wooyoung - even Yeosang would’ve made some biting remark, probably something witty and dry that cut straight to the bone because that’s how he is. 

But Mingi didn’t. 

And now Yunho’s been victimized by people way scarier than the lowly jerks of Wolfwood.

“They were just being assholes,” Mingi coughs out, praying that Hongjoong doesn’t turn this on him. He berates himself for that, too. Yunho is MIA and he’s still thinking about himself. Pathetic. Mingi shakes the thoughts out of his head, trudging forward, “I mean, we both figured what’s done is done. They got their laughs and we parted ways. I just- I never thought-”

“Never thought  _ what _ ?” Hongjoong asks.

Mingi gulps nervously, “I mean, I just never thought they’d, like, do anything about it. But it’s the only thing that makes sense. What if they put his bed on the roof or something and he’s stuck there?”

“Do you remember their names?” Seonghwa asks.

“Um- A couple, yeah,” The redhead nods. “They had some weird ones. I guess witches can take second names or something- I- I dunno-”

“The names, Mingi,” Joong presses through gritted teeth.

“Right- Um, They were- There was Ravn. He had black hair. Xion had red hair. Leedo-”

“Stupid fucking names,” Wooyoung comments. 

Mingi ignores it, searching his memories for the others, “Um, Sehun? Seoho? Something like that. Keonhee - he was the, uh, really mean one - and…” The image of lilac hair and lithe legs flashes into Mingi’s head. “Hwanwoong.” He says. That one he remembers for sure.

Yeosang leans forward and asks, “Okay, well, do you see them anywhere?”

Mingi glances around, scanning the dining hall. It’s pretty early, and the place is pretty full - at least on the witches’ side. It’s more of the same that he’d seen the day before - posh pajamas and designer outfits. There are so many of them, some of whom have their hair dyed, too. There’s platinum blondes and rusty orange tones. A lot of natural brunettes, too, which doesn’t help Mingi.

No lilac, though.

While there’s the off chance that the unit isn’t eating together, Mingi can’t say he catches sight of any face he recognizes. Occasionally, he thinks he does, but then the person turns around and the hope is shattered.

“Nope,” Mingi shakes his head.

“Fuck,” Joong curses.

“Okay,” Seonghwa says in a satiating tone - the perfect, cool yin to the other senior’s fiery yang. “We’ll go with splitting up and keep an eye out for those guys. We’re still allowed to use our phones, so it’ll be easy to communicate if we see him.”

“Yeah, okay,” Mingi nods.

“But what if it was those guys?” Hongjoong says. “The witches. I wanna know if it’s them or not. Makes more sense to me that we ask them about it.”

Hwa frowns, clearly displeased with Hongjoong’s confrontational approach, but he yields regardless, “We can do both, then, if you want to. You and Mingi can go on the witch hunt.”

Mingi’s blood freezes, “But-”

“You’re the only one who actually knows who they are, Mingi,” Seonghwa clarifies.

“B-B-” Mingi snaps his lips shut, even more guilt poisoning his blood stream. The last thing he wanted was to just confront them. Hongjoong is probably about ready to murder one on sight, and Mingi knows it’ll take all of his magical and physical strength to hold him back when he’s determined like that.

* * *

Yunho winces at the stabbing sensation of rocks and twigs jabbing at his feet. His blanket provides the only barrier between him and the hazy mist billowing between the trees. Though it’s not cold, goosebumps prick his skin and a shiver perpetually jostles him from the spine outward. The pain shooting up the pads of his feet is too real for this to be a dream. Somehow, Yunho ended up in the woods. While that question tormented him early on in his trek, at this point he doesn’t care how he got there.

He just wants to get out.

The from which the sunlight filters through the thick canopy is Yunho’s only indication, his only sense of direction. He has no idea where he is, but the sun rises in the east and sets to the west. While, yes, Wolfwood is surrounded by woods, the woods south of the campus are thinner, laced with protective spells and surrounded with barriers to prevent human interference or trespassing. Yunho’s fairly certain if he’d been dumped there, he’d have tripped some type of alarm. Nobody’s coming for him, though, so it’s probably not that. 

The south barrier extends slightly northeast and northwest, but it doesn’t cover the northern woods or what they know “back” woods using the campus’s arched entrance as a vantage point. Yunho assumes that’s where he’d ended up. The back woods, the haunted forest. The place where even their Head Warlock doesn’t dare enter.

But, that’s fine! It’s day time, so Yunho figures: he’ll be fine.

Right?

Right.

He sniffs loudly as he reassures himself, plodding in the direction he approximates to be south. With each step further, the place grows quieter. Thick moss and foliage absorb any sound that dares impose on the stillness. Yunho can scarcely even hear the birds sing anymore. Their chirps and lilting songs are but a low whistle, something distant and airy. 

The blond finds a spindly twig on a nearby evergreen and snaps it. The thick forest sops up the sound, making it near inaudible. At the very least, he ought to mark his trail, he figures. He was never in the scouts or anything like that, but it seems like the smart thing to do. If he had the skills of a witch, he could have probably divined his location and figured out a path out. Hell, a more powerful warlock could probably just fly above the treeline and make it to safety.

Yunho is neither of those.

But he’s still bright, brave, and resourceful - at least, he  _ tells himself _ that as he plods hesitantly across the forest floor. All he’s got is his wits and sanity, so he holds onto both of them with a vice grip. 

The forest doesn’t make it easy, though. Yunho wonders if the dread pressing against his chest is self-imposed, a result of his anxiety, or his intuition warning him of a sinister presence. Sharp, little noises occasionally echo through the otherwise mute woods - the sound of leaves shifting somewhere in the distance. Yunho tells himself it’s a woodland creature. It has to be, right? Never mind that he hasn’t seen one for at least half an hour. 

Another rustling noise sounds out just ahead of the blond, and he pauses. The thick fog obscures the path ahead - path is a generous name for it, really. Path implies some sort of formally laid navigational trail. In reality, everything looks the same, and Yunho is merely following the winding way that he infers will be least painful to his bare feet.

“H-Hello?” Yunho calls out squeakily.

There it is again.

The jostling of dead leaves. This time Yunho swears he can see something in the distance. The leaves. They’re moving.

Ice cold fear trickles into the blond’s bloodstream, freezing him from the inside out. His head whips around, but there’s nobody to be seen. Nothing. Not even the receding form of a bug or a bird.

“Okay,” Yunho says. It’s almost as if the billowing fog soaks up any sound he makes deliberately. He speaks not because he thinks someone will hear him, but because he wants to hear himself. “Okay, Yunho.” He reassures himself.

“You can do this, you can do this,” He murmurs marching onward. His feet have almost gotten used to the rough ground beneath them. “You can do this, you can d-”

There it is again!

That sharp, shifting noise - leaves jostling, twigs snapping. How is it that, in a forest where everything sounds so muffled, that one particular noise manages to prevail?

Yunho picks up his pace, “Okay, we’re heading- we’re going south. Just keep walking south, just keep walking-”

It’s closer. The sound and whatever makes it, that is; it echoes from behind the blond.

“Don’t look back,” Yunho tells himself. He winces, and his face contorts with pain as he strides faster through the woods. “Don’t look back, don’t look back.” He repeats the words like a sacred incantation. God, how he wishes he could cast a spell. His repoirtoire is limited, though. Creating a small flame or levitating a twig won’t be of much help, he imagines.

_ “You…” _

Yunho’s body seizes up, “What was that?!” His head snaps, but he catches himself before his body follows. He can’t turn around. That’s a death sentence. He doesn’t know how he knows, but he knows.

“Okay, Yunho,” The blond talks to himself. “Just keep moving…”

_ “You…” _

“Just- just keep moving,” Yunho’s feet pick up into a trot. “Keep moving.”

_ “You…” _

Yunho imagines this is what a gazelle feels like when they’re spotted by the lion. The world around him smears into a blur, his only thought is “go”. Go, go, go. He has to go, to run away from it. Whatever it is.

_ “You… Give…” _

Where is it coming from? 

It’s everywhere, but nowhere at the same time. The hoarse voice fills hears ears while somehow being faint as a whisper. Panic sets in, a slow-spreading venom needling Yunho’s heart and spreading throughout his entire body. Though the thrumming of his heartbeat pounds like thunder in his ears, it still can’t drown out the voice. 

_ “You… Give… Us…” _

Us.

It said us.

It’s no secret that dozens of runaway patients died in the forest. Hundreds, maybe. But even long before the establishment of institutionalised healthcare settled into those woods, souls traversed them. People ran west to take territory and hunt for riches. They spilled blood over those territories, then spilled blood again during the witch scare of the seventeenth century. Still, it’s jarring to realize that the cluster of distraught souls spannign centuries have amalgamated into some single collective.

An us.

Yunho breaks out into a run.

It, or they - the presence - bounds after him. He can feel it seeking him out, a swift, silent predator. 

Every strike of his foot against the underbrush sends a jolt of pain into his feet. Agony stabs his chest and constricts his throat. It’s as if someone’s strangling him from the inside out, straining everything. 

_ “You… give us…” _

Shuffling leaves tickle Yunho’s heels, telling him that it - they - are close. In spite of his difficulty breathing, Yunho picks up his stride, kicking up into a sprint. He isn’t even really watching where he’s going anymore. All he can think of is survival, getting away. 

_ “You… give us your…” _

Yunho’s ankle catches on a root.

He gasps, but the breath gets caught in his chest as he tumbles down toward the ground.

“Shit,” He curses, grimacing as sticks and pines dig into his skin. Tears well up in his eyes as he scrambles in the opposite direction of the malignant presence. Yunho’s never been a particularly religious or spiritual person, but in that moment, the only thing he can think to do is pray. Well, not so much pray as beg. Beg whatever dieities, powers, spirits or beings watch over him or the forest or the planet or whatever.

“I need to get out,” Yunho pleads as he braces himself on a tree. “I need to get out, just- just let me get out. Show me the way out-” He huffs. A rush of fatigue washes over him when he rises to his feet. He’d done so too fast, apparently, because the dizzying whiplash sends him reeling. He teeters from one foot to the other, willing his vision to straighten itself out. It doesn’t, though. The heady rush of blood is too much, and his vision glazes over as he loses control of his body. “Get… Me out…” He begs weakly. 

A shadowy silhouette darkens his vision. The humanesque form stands over him menacingly.

It’s the last thing he sees before blacking out.

* * *

“Still nothing,” Hongjoong glares at his phone before stuffing it back into his pocket.

Mingi frowns, “Not even on the roof?”

“No,” The senior shakes his head dejectedly. They’d been at it for an hour with no success. There’s no sign of Yunho (or his bed) anywhere. None of the people they asked saw him nor has he turned up in the whisperings of any of the rumor mills.

At this point, Joong and Mingi have abandoned the main campus and started walking around the outer reaches along the treeline. From a distance, they probably look like a couple of students taking a nice walk near the woods. It’s a beautiful day, the last day of freedom before the student bodies get pulled into the vortex of classwork and extra curricular activities. There are plenty of others like them - little groups or even lovey-dovey couples tracing the line between the furthest back football field and the forest. Little do their peers know that they’ve got a dark cloud of dread and guilt hanging over them.

Mingi sighs, watching his peers with envy. Witches sit on laid out blankets atop the painted lines of the field, and warlocks designate small plots for their own pickup games of football. How he wishes he could be among them, laughing, playing, none the wiser that one of their own has gone missing.

He’ll turn up, right?

He has to turn up, Mingi tells himself. Yunho can’t just be gone forever. 

Right?

That’s not how it works. People don’t just disappear. Well, they do, actually, but no. Not Yunho. Not Mingi’s friends. That’s not supposed to happen. It’s just not allowed. Yunho is young and nice and smart and witty. People like Yunho aren’t allowed to just go missing one day and never return. It’s not okay.

“-Mingi,” Hongjoong’s voice pierces the redhead’s contemplation. 

“Hm?” Mingi grunts.

“You okay, buddy?”

“What? Yeah, I’m fine. Just wanna find Yunho is all,” He shrugs dismissively. “Man, what if this is all just a prank?”

“Ugh,” Hongjoong balks. “I’d kill him. I would literally kill him.”

Mingi snorts, “After going through all the trouble to find him?”

“Yes! Yes, I definitely would,” The way the senior says it makes Mingi believe that he’s completely serious. Honestly, the homicide is warranted at this point. Mingi’s stomach is eating itself with worry, and Hongjoong’s already short fuse has been reduced to a tiny nub because of the stress. If Yunho is brilliantly playing them, he’s gonna pay dearly.

But Mingi doesn’t think that’s the case. Yunho isn’t the prank type, and when he does play the occasional trick, it’s usually something lame. He’s by no means the mean-spirited type who likes to cause genuine distress. His kind of prank is, like, casting a spell to swap out the filling of your cream puff with wasabi. Not dropping off the face of the earth for hours so he can watch his friends go mad with worry.

“Hey,” Hongjoong elbows Mingi.

The redhead’s heart lifts slightly, “What is it? D’you see him?”

Joong purses his lips, “No, not that.”

“Oh,” Mingi deflates.

“But didn’t you say one of those witches had red hair?” Hongjoong nods across the football field.

Mingi squints at the clique of unfamiliar people laid out on the lawn lackadaisically, “You know, I have red hair, too,” he says. “It’s not exactly an uncommon hair choice.”

“So, what, you don't recognize him?”

Mingi shrugs, “I don’t know, I- he’s turned around so…” The junior trails off when another body enters the scene. A petite figure drifts over to the group rolling around in the grass and gracefully lowers himself down. The lilac-haired boy joins the others, laughing about something. Irritation squeezes in Mingi’s chest.

  
Are they laughing about Yunho?

“That’s them,” Mingi says.

“Oh, really?” Hongjoong asks, tone dropping into something dark. 

Mingi bites his lip nervously and nods. He can already tell that whatever Hongjoong’s plans are, none of them are civil. The third-year wracks his brain for ways to mitigate the senior’s temper, but he’s too late. 

One second, Hongjoong is there. The next, he’s gone.

Mingi’s jaw drops. He doesn’t have to think hard about where Hongjoong has gone, and he swiftly incants a spell so he can join the other by his side. Figures, Joong couldn’t even wait the thirty seconds it would’ve taken to walk over to them. He had to fucking teleport. Even though he’s just seconds after his senior, by the time Mingi arrives at the witch clique’s side, it’s too late.

“-told you, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” The black-haired one, Ravn, responds to Hongjoong smugly. 

“Bullshit,” Hongjoong spits back. 

“Look,” The ice-cold blue-haired one, Keonhee, replies, “Let’s say that, in theory, we really did teleport him to the middle of the woods. I don’t see why it’s such a big deal- Oh,” Apparently, they’d been occupied with Hongjoong and just now noticed Mingi. Keonhee raises an eyebrow in surprise. “You’re here.”

Mingi’s caught between wanting to strangle the witches and not wanting to cause any trouble. Stirring too much shit will attract attention which will do nothing to help the situation. If it escalates too much, teachers will see need to interfere, and then all parties involved will be royally fucked.

“C’mon, just tell us where he is,” Mingi tries to sound calm. It doesn’t work well - his voice quivers, nerves shaken by the negative attention directed at him.

“I don’t know,” Keonhee responds cooly. The others snicker, not even trying to hide the fact that they had part in Yunho’s disappearance. “Maybe he fancied a brisk morning walk through the forest and got turned around.”

The scale starts tipping more in favor of anger for Mingi, and he answers strainedly, “You know that’s not true. We told you how haunted that forest is. Nobody in their right mind would walk in there willingly.”

Xion, who’d been resting his head in the blond one’s lap, titters, “If it’s so bad why hasn’t he left yet?”

“So you admit it?” Hongjoong scowls, “You admit you know he’s in the woods.” The accusation simply spurs their laughter even more.

“And what about it?” Ravn is the one to answer, and he does it with an annoyingly glib smirk.

Hongjoong seethes, clenching his hands into tiny fists, “How the fuck are you so goddamn unbothered about this?! You just threw someone into the fucking woods without a phone- without fucking shoes!” He lunges forward.

Mingi jumps after the other, wrapping his arms around the senior’s waist and holding him back. The witches watch with wide eyes, a few exchanging amused expressions and low laughter. Mingi’s close to releasing Hongjoong and saying fuck it.

Ravn answers in a calm voice laced with condesenscion, “Okay, well, obviously he’s not having a terrible time in the woods because if he was, he would’ve come back by now.”

“Oh, really?” Joong lets out a dry laugh. “And how the fuck do you figure that?”

“I dunno,” The black-haired witch shrugs. “Teleportation- well, that might be out of the question for him... So, probably good old fashioned levitation.” The others snicker again. 

Hongjoong’s face falls, and his tone drops from furious to grim, “Are you fucking serious?”

Keonhee responds, “Well it certainly seems like the more practical option based on what I imagine is available to him. Guess he could light the forest on fire until he sees the school- though that seems like a really silly way to go about it.”

Ravn adds, “Maybe you should try and keep an eye out for a flying bed.”

Mingi shakes his head incredulously. Finally he  _ gets  _ it. He comprehends why they’re being so incredibly blasse about everything. Guilt and dread drive into his chest like a stake. 

They don’t understand.

They genuinely do not understand the limitations Yunho has.

“He can’t do that,” Mingi says through gritted teeth. 

“What are you talking about?” The black-haired witch - who still doesn’t get it - rolls his eyes.

Hongjoong hisses, “You know damn well what he-” He leaps forward. Mingi keeps a firm grip on his senior’s shoulder, preventing the other from physically throwing himself at the nearest witch.

Mingi repeats himself, laboring to remain as calm as possible, “He can’t do that.” His entire face burns, flushed with embarrassment at all the rapt attention. He doesn’t usually mind being in the spotlight, but right now all the eyes trained on him make his guts wrench with nerves.

“Can’t do what?” Keonhee asks, voice clipped. It’s apparent that his amusement is wavering. Now he’s just getting annoyed.

“Yunho cannot do that,” Mingi tells them in a low voice. “Yunho can’t- he isn’t capable of that type of magic.”

Ravn’s smirk immediately falls, and Keonhee’s brows knit together in confusion. The other witches exchange a mix of puzzled and vexed looks.

“You’re joking, right?” Ravn asks in a low voice.

“Why would we come over here this pissed off if it was a joke?” Mingi replies.

“No, no. No,” The black-haired witch huffs in protest.

“What?” Hongjoong balks. “The fuck do you mean ‘no’?”

“No,” Ravn crosses his arms defiantly. “I don’t believe it.”

“You don’t believe it?” The senior warlock’s face flushes and he clenches his fists so tightly that his nails begin to dig into his palms.

Mingi, fancying himself the more sane of the two, cuts in, “It’s true. I mean- You knew this. You know Yunho is a- he’s not as powerful.”

“I knew he was a manikin,” Keonhee responds, his own icy exterior thawing and giving way to agitated anxiety. “Not that he was incompetent.”

“Fuck you!” Hongjoong barks. “He’s doing his best.”

“What? I- How the hell am I supposed to know what he can and can’t do?!” The blue-haired witch gasps.

Ravn, apparently still in denial, shakes his head fervently, “No. Absolutely not. No- How- how did he even  _ get into _ this school if he can’t- if he can’t even  _ float _ ?”

“Oh, god, we left him for dead,” Seoho - the one with jet black hair who’d been quiet the entire time - breathes out. 

“Wh-” Ravn turns and glares at the other, “No- No we didn’t-” He turns back to Mingi and Joong, “We did not leave him for dead. I- I didn’t now- We thought- He’s not going to die.”

Seoho shakes his head, “That place is full of evil. I can feel it even from the edge of the woods.”

“Seoho, shut up,” Ravn growls.

“And we threw him right in the middle of it,” Seoho wails guiltily.

“I-” Ravn huffs, wringing a hand through his hair. “We didn’t know, okay? Shit- I didn’t think a manikin would be that weak-”

“This is your fault,” Hongjoong cuts the other off, jabbing a finger in their direction.

“So what are you gonna do?” Keonhee stubbornly holds onto his veneer of assurance. “Tell on us?”

“Y’know, usually I don’t believe in ratting people out, but when one of my best friends is put in danger, I  _ heavily  _ consider it,” Hongjoong threatens. “But, I’ll give you a chance to fix your massive fuckup.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“You put Yunho in the woods,” Hongjoong says. “So you’re gonna help us get him out.”

* * *

If someone would have told Mingi two days ago that he’d be walking into the woods to hunt down Yunho because of a shitty, mean-spirited prank gone awry, Mingi would’ve laughed. He’d have insisted that nobody in Wolfwood is that much of an asshole, that nobody is dumb enough to just throw someone in the woods. It’s a deathwish, and it doesn’t take a witch or a genius to know that.

Yet, there he stands, in line with his closest friends and a group of assholes he’d just met the day before. After threatening them into helping, Joong called the rest of their group and instructed them to meet behind the shiny, new Taemin Auditorium. Even though there aren’t teachers lurking about, it wouldn’t do for anyone to spot them going into the woods in a big group. As is, the group gathered is a small crowd. While Mingi is sure others would be happy to help (if only to bulk up their gossip repository with new drama), he isn’t keen on involving anyone else.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” San murmurs fearfully.

“Can we just get this over with?” Keonhee sighs. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Hongjoong responds sarcastically. “Is saving my friend from the terrible death at the hands of evil spirits that  _ you  _ sentenced him to an inconvenience?”

“Everyone’s here now, right?” Seoho asks anxiously. Mingi finds it strange that Seoho is more antsy than anyone else. He wonders if the witch has an increased sensitivity to the presence of spirits or something like that. It’s crazy to think that there’s an entire layer of existence that the other is completely tuned into while the redhead himself can barely sense an incorpereal presence.

Mingi scans the cluster of witches and warlocks. He’s pretty damn sure that this isn’t what the Headmisters meant when they talked about solidarity. But there they are. Seven warlocks and six witches banding together on a recovery mission.

“Yeah,” Mingi nods. He turns to Joong, “We should probably head in. Don’t wanna lose too much more daylight.” He frowns, glancing at the sun high above them. They’ve probably got four, maybe four and a half hours until sundown. The forest is creepy during the day, but at night? That’s when the spirits are really active.

It’s said that nobody survives a night in the forest.

The day? Yes. People will stumble out, rambling messes with eyes wide and pants stained with piss. But if that day turns into night, they’re never heard from again. 

It’s just a superstition, of course. Mingi’s never actually witnessed someone go mad from long hours in the forest nor has anyone disappeared during his time at Wolfwood. But he sure as hell does not want Yunho to be the first.

“Alright,” Hongjoong, self-promoted leader of the expidition, calls out loudly. “Let’s head in. Remember, everyone stick together. We need to mark our trail, too. It’s easy to get fucked up in this forest. You guys said that Yunho’s a straight shot back, right?”

Ravn nods, “He’s only a few miles in. Just north. Shouldn’t take us more than twenty, maybe thirty minutes to get to him.”

“That’s assuming he hasn’t moved,” Yeosang - ever the bubbly optimist - adds grimly.

  
The ominous statement simply floats in the air. Nobody has a good response for that. Hongjoong heaves a sigh and waves toward the treeline. There are a few low mumbles here and there as the rest of the group follows.

Silence envelops the group of witches and warlocks as they cross the threshold. 

  
Mingi feels the hairs on the back ofhis neck stand up, and he wonders if that’s due to some mystical pressure exerted by the woods or due to his own anxiety.

“Yunho!” Hongjoong shouts.

“Yunho!” San tries, too.

Mingi takes a deep breath and gives it his all, echoing the other two, “Yunho!”

Nothing.

No response.

Not even a bird squawking.

“May I make a proposal?” Xion bursts the bubble of no-talking between the two distinct friend groups. “Some of us should go high, try to see if we can spot him from above.”

“Not a bad idea,” Hongjoong replies.

Xion responds with a satisfied grin, “Perfect. We can-”

“Wh- By yourselves?” Joong laughs exasperatedly. “Hell no. I don’t trust you guys.”

“Wh- Are you serious?” Keonhee huffs.

“Dead serious,” Joong replies. “I’m not letting you guys wiggle your way out of this. So, a couple of you can go high, and a couple of us will go with you.”

“Guys,” Seoho chimes in, “I don’t think splitting up is a good idea.”

“It’s not splitting up, okay?” Ravn reassures the other. “We’ll just have some aerial superiority a few yards in front of us.”

“Yeah,” Hongjoong says. “What he said.”

Seoho backs down mopily.

He ends up on the sky team, along with Xion, Keonhee, San, Wooyoung, Yeosang and Jongho. Mingi has a sneaking suspicion that Seoho opted to go high so he can distance himself from the malicious energy of the place, but he doesn’t say anything about it. It’s none of his business. He keeps his feet on the ground, walking alongside the two eldest warlocks, Ravn, Hwanwoong and the mute one called Leedo.

Their march inward is awkward, to say the least. The tensity between the witches and warlocks is nearly as thick as the fog rolling in. Aside from shouting Yunho’s name, nobody really says anything.

Mingi scrutinizes the woods around him.

It’s a labyrinth of trees - towering evergreens and oaks. Their foliage is thick, forming a substantial canopy that barely allows any sunlight to poke through. The slight slivers of light that do manage to make it in paint tiny shapes on the floor beneath. Fallen leaves, seed pods, pine cones and needles carpet the ground, up from which sprout little tufts of moss, grass, and tiny plants.

A sudden force makes Mingi’s entire body jerk forward. 

“Ff-!” His heart lodges into his throat and he curses, panicked. A spindly appendage of some kind wraps around the redhead’s ankle, bringing him down, “Fuck! Something’s got me-!” 

He collides with someone beside him before catapulting forward onto the ground. Unfortunately, the redhead isn’t the only casualty. He somehow pivots in his downward spiral, knocking into the person next to him.

Pain smacks Mingi - first on his forearms which he’d stuck out to cushion his fall. Then on his chin which, in spite of his best efforts, knocked against the ground painfully. Rocks and twigs dig into the warlock’s arms and cheeks, and he grimaces as the hurt washes over his body in waves.

“What the hell!?” The felled body next to him gripes.

Mingi peels himself off of the ground, hacking and coughing, “Ah- ‘M sorry, I-” He wiggles his ankle, and his stomach drops. It’s still got him. “I- I- Something’s got me!” His eyes blow wide open and he struggles. “Something’s got me! It’s- It’s got me- Fuck-!” His nerves dissipate in record time, leaving him a wriggling, whining mess.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” The person next to him groans. “It’s a root.”

“-uck, fucking get it off of m- wait, what?” Mingi’s fit of terror halts immediately, and he glances down at his constricted foot. It is, in fact, wrapped up in a spindly root that had been hidden beneath all of the underbrush.

“Oh,” He says flatly, dislodging his ankle. “Uh- Right, sorry I knocked you down there. And for freaking out, I- uh-” Mingi chokes when he glances over to his side and realizes just who he’d knocked down.

With arms crossed and face pinched into an irritated expression, it’s none other than Yeo Hwanwoong. A minute passes without a word between them, and blistering heat swells in Mingi’s face when he realizes that he’d spent said silent minute staring with his mouth ajar like a dullard.

“Are you okay?” Hwanwoong asks - more out of propriety than actual care, probably.

Mingi scrambles to his feet, “Yeah, um, right, sorry about-” Tripping. Falling. Knocking you over. Staring at you like a moron. Existing. Breathing. “-taking you down.” Mingi finishes.

“Yeah, whatever, let’s just keep going,” Hwanwoong says dismissively. 

“Right,” Mingi nods in agreement. He takes a step forward but ends up bumping into Hwanwoong again. “Wh- Hey- I mean- sorry, I just-”

“Where did they go?” Hwanwoong asks. His voice quivers slightly.

“Huh?” Mingi blinks confusedly, taking a shamefully long second to figure out what Hwanwoong meant.

The redhead scans the woods in front of them. 

It’s the same as always. Trees, trees, more trees. Dead leaves. Pine needles. Some rocks.

No people.

No people?

“What the- did they just leave us?” Mingi asks. “What the hell?”

Hwanwoong shakes his head, “No, no that- that isn’t right. We would see or hear them- it’s not like they’d have gotten that far in the, like, five seconds it took us to get up.”   
  


“You’re right,” Mingi replies. “Hey!” He calls out into the woods. “Hey! If this is a prank this isn’t funny, guys!” 

No response comes.

“I’m serious, knock it off! We have bigger shit to deal with!” Mingi shouts.

Hwanwoong frowns, “No, I- I don’t sense them near us. There’s no other magical presence here except- well, except you.” He sounds so damn disappointed that his only company is Mingi, and in different circumstances the redhead would’ve felt offense. He’s too busy trying not to melt down, though.

It doesn’t make sense. Where did his friends go? Where did  _ he  _ go?

“Okay,” Hwanwoong says. “Okay, okay. This is- this is fine. This is gonna be fine, let’s just- let’s head north and meet up with them.”

“Right,” Mingi nods. Seems like a legit plan of action.

“I mean, that’ll work, right? We’ll- They’ll find us, won’t they?”

“Right, yeah. Sure,” In truth Mingi isn’t concerned about himself and the witch he’s ended up with. He’s more concerned with Yunho.

Somehow, in a matter of seconds, Mingi and Hwanwoong got turned around and mixed up so bad that they’ve lost the entire rest of their group. Together they make up a fairly competent magical duo, and Mingi’s sure that in dangerous situations, one of them would have something at least protective in their arsenal for self defense. In the worst case, Mingi and Hwanwoong can just fly away, back to campus. 

Yunho doesn’t have that.

He doesn’t have the abilities to protect himself from predatory forces. He doesn’t have anybody with him to rely on. Yunho has no means of escape.

“Wait!” A light in Mingi’s mind flickers on, “Just a sec-” He grabs his phone from his pocket and checks it. “What the fuck?” His screen is black. Lifeless. He swears it’d been on the charger all night, and when he checked it just twenty minutes prior, it’d been above fifty percent. He taps the screen manically and presses every combination of buttons he can think of.

“It’s not gonna work,” Hwanwoong says.

“How do you know?”

The witch waves his phone - a new, expensive model wrapped in a pretty floral case, “Mine’s shot, too.”

“Okay, that’s- that’s weird. Knew this place was sketchy but I didn’t think that’d translate into killing my phone.”

“Spirits can interact with the material world in lots of ways,” Hwanwoong says cooly. He dusts himself off and starts walking in a direction.

Mingi scrambles to the other’s side. He has zero interest in being alone in this place. He just hopes they find Yunho.

* * *

Hongjoong clenches and unclenches his fists in his pockets.

Nausea roils in his stomach, the sickening sensation running up his throat and into his head. It’s the stress - he knows it’s the stress. He feels like he’s on the brink of retching with every step he takes forward, but he reels it in adamantly. Now is not the time to give into weakness or nerves. He wonders if it’s dawning on the witches just how fucked up their dumbass “prank” was. The more time Joong spends in the forest, the less phony all of the ghost stories about the place are to him.

At first all he had to worry about were the regular dangers associated with being left in the wilderness. Disorientation. Dehydration. Hunger. Anxiety. Now he’s more scared that something might go bump in the night, and what better target for some evil spirit than a pure soul like Yunho?

“Hey,” Seonghwa leans over to Hongjoong, speaking in a soft, satiating tone. “It’s gonna be alright, okay? We’re gonna find him. Hell, he could’ve made it back already.”

“Yeah,” Hongjoong nods numbly. “Yeah, you’re probably right.” The other senior flashes a reassuring smile. Through it, Hongjoong can see the pain and the worry. The warlock itches the nape of his neck. He keeps getting a chill back there. Goosebumps pock his flesh, and a disconcerted shiver runs down his back. 

He feels watched. Joong isn’t much of a spirit guy, but he’s definitely starting to believe.

Another quiver makes the warlock’s shoulders seize, and he glances around worriedly. Something is watching him. But what is it? Where is it coming from? What are its intentions? Hongjoong scans the area, and his gaze stops, resting on a set of dark eyes trained on him. His heart lurches for an instant.

“Hey,” Hongjoong barks at the blond warlock. Leedo is his name? What a stupid name, Joong thinks. “Hey, you. Blondie.”

If the blond hears his words, he sure as hell doesn’t acknowledge them. Instead he continues to stare openly, dark eyes boring into the warlock as if dissecting him down to his immaterial soul.

“The fuck are you staring at?” Hongjoong bristles.

Finally, the witch snaps out of his creepy stareathon. He blinks rapidly, and his pupils flit away, to the floor - where they should be as far as Joong’s concerned. The warlock rolls his eyes. Figures there’s an entire school full of witch geniuses but he somehow ends up walking in the woods with the dumb ones.

“Phones still dead?” The black-haired Ravn asks the group. Everyone present fishes their phone out of their pockets, all tapping and pressing buttons.

Nothing.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Ravn mutters, shaking his head. “This place is a real shithole, you know that?”

“What?” Hongjoong gasps, affronted. Sure, he agrees that in many ways his school is a shithole. All schools - even the nicest ones, he’s sure - are in  _ some way _ a shithole. But dammit, Wolfwood is his shithole. Only he and other Wolfwood students - real ones, not temporarily displaced Rouge Shadow snobs - are allowed to say that. If arguing about the merits of Wolfwood wasn’t such an unnecessary distraction, Joong would probably fire back with more fervor. Instead, he rolls his eyes. “Whatever. Just look for Yunho. Tall and blond, in case you forgot the face of the guy you decided to torment.”

“How much longer do you expect this to go on?”

“As long as it takes.”

“Come on. The others bailed already. Shit- Even your redhead dude-”

“You mean Mingi?”

“Whatever. Even he bailed.”

“Yeah, well, he probably had a reason,” Hongjoong neglects to mention the fact that Mingi is a complete chickenshit. His “reason” could very well be curling up and crying by a tree because a squirrel surprised him. That’s none of their concern, though. One of their own peaced out, too. “What about your friend? Doesn’t it worry you in the slightest that he bounced?”

“Who? Hwanwoong?” Ravn snorts. “Nah. More power to him, honestly. If I gotta do the pain in the ass job, so be it.”

“How fucking generous,” Hongjoong huffs.

“Hey,” Seonghwa cuts in. He points up to the sky, “Anybody have the time?”

“Um- Oh, wait, no.” “Nope.” Joong and Ravn grunt in response. Leedo shakes his head.

“Why?” Hongjoong asks.

“Doesn’t it look kind of dark to you?” The eldest warlock frowns.

“Huh?” Hongjoong’s eyes drift up to the sky.

He’s right. It looks dark. Alarmingly so. 

“It’s gotta be a trick of the light,” Ravn says. “We haven’t been in here more than an hour. Hell, an hour’s pushing it. It’s just the leaves covering up the sun.”

“I don’t know,” Seonghwa says.

The raven-haired witch rolls his eyes and floats up, “Oh my god- If it’s gonna bother you so much, I’ll fly up there  _ myself  _ and part the leaves - with my hands, no magic - so you can see that it’s, like, three in the afternoon, okay?”

Seonghwa shrugs and Hongjoong raises his eyebrows in response. They watch the witch gracefully fly up, up, up into the canopy. His tall, slender form nearly disappears between the fog and the overlapping branches of the evergreens. As promised, Ravn takes hold of a branch cluster and pulls it back, revealing a peek of the sky above.

“What the fuck?” Ravn’s voice just barely reaches the forest floor.

  
What the fuck is right.

Up above, Hongjoong doesn’t see the sun or the vivid azure sky that they’d left behind when they rolled out their search. There’s still blue, yes, but it’s dark. Just barely grazing the edge of the sky blue is a hint of orange. The gold tones of the sun’s receding rays.

Ravn lowers himself quickly, all haughty smugness completely erased. His face is the picture of concern.

“How- How long have we been here?” He asks, voice quivering.

Hongjoong swallows nervously, “What- what time does it look like it is?”

“Um- The sun’s setting. Just started, but um-” The witch doesn’t look too hot. Sweat runs down his brow and he looks pale - not in that glassy, deliberately fair way, either. “Look, dude, I think you need to cut your losses.”

“What?!” Anger flares up in Hongjoong’s chest, searing heat swelling from his heart into his throat and out his mouth. “I don’t fucking think so. Yunho isn’t just a fucking ‘loss’- he’s one of my best friends you asshole.”

“Hey, I- if this place is as fucked up after dark as you say, then we don’t have a ton of time-”

“Then neither does he! And unlike us, he’s defenseless!” Hongjoong practically breathes fire.

“We didn’t know that, okay?!” Ravn spits back. “It was an innocent prank.”

“Innocent how, exactly? You think picking on someone with less power than you is  _ innocent _ !?”

“Guys,” Seonghwa tries to but in, stepping toward the two. “This isn’t helping. We need to make a decision.”

  
“We’re staying!” “We’re going.” The witch and warlock bark simultaneously. The blond is silent all the while - staring off into the distance now. How fucking helpful.

“You know what?” Hongjoong glares at Ravn. “Since you’re so fucking powerful and in-tune with the fucking spirit world, why don’t you contact the spirits and ask them about my friend? Huh?”

“Contact these spirits?” Ravn scoffs. “Hell no.”

“God- How the fuck do you sleep at night?”

“Guys-” Seonghwa tries stepping in again.

Joong ignores him, “Shit- If anything bad happens to Yunho-”

“You’ll what?” Ravn provokes the other further. “You’ll what?”

“Guys!” Hwa tries again.

“You don’t want to know,” Joong growls.

“You’re so full of shit. Listen, I feel for you, but this place? This place is kinda fucked. This is something for, like, our teachers.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re scared.”

“Wh- Yes, I am scared! Why aren’t you scared?”

“My friend is out there somewhere! Lost, afraid, and fucking defenseless!”

“So what? You have to put the rest of us into this situation?”

“You did this, and you know you need to take responsibility. That’s why you’re here.”

“Guys-” Hwa attempts again.

“Yeah, okay, I thought this would be quick. I thought we’d pick up a scent, I thought we’d have found him in an hour, but now? I think we’ve paid our dues.”

“Guys.”

“Paid your- You haven’t done shit! And I swear to the dark lord if- if something happens to him-”

_ “Guys!” _ Seonghwa yells.

Hongjoong and Ravn stop. Joong clamps his mouth shut, and Ravn lets out a puff of air.

Seonghwa points ahead of them, “Over there, I think I see something.”

“Huh?” Hongjoong’s head whips around, and he squints. Under the cover of the leaves, everything is ten times darker and twenty times more difficult to see. In the distance, by a tree trunk Hongjoong can just scarcely make out the shape of... Something. It’s light in color. It sort of drapes and wrinkles like cloth.

Like a t-shirt.

“Yunho!” Hongjoong shouts, sprinting toward the form. Everything else is emptied from his mind. All he can think about is saving his friend. The others follow at his tail, sprinting toward the strange form.

“Yunho?!” Joong yells from a few yards away. He stumbles and nearly wipes out as he bounds toward the other. “Yunho- Yunho, Yunho! Are you okay?!” Hongjoong reaches out for the tee, hoping to rouse the boy wrapped in it. “Yunho- are you-!”

Hongjoong halts.

Despair stabs him in the chest.

He can’t breathe. Every breath he attempts is stifled by the constriction of his throat. Hongjoong’s fingertips graze the soft, familiar material.

“Oh my god,” Ravn breathes out. 

Seonghwa covers his face with his hand.

Leedo squeezes the other witch’s shoulder and trains his gaze on the ground.

Calm down, Hongjoong tells himself.

Calm down, he pleads.

Just calm down.

“Is that- Is that his?” Ravn asks hushedly. “Is that his blanket?”

Hongjoong can’t stomach looking at the witch. He squeezes his eyes shut, fighting tears, and nods wordlessly. He clutches the other’s blanket and buries his face in it. It still sort of smells like their dorm room - something that Joong finds simultaneously comforting and depressing.

“This could mean lots of things,” The black-haired witch tries to reassure the group. “I mean, it’s just a blanket. He could’ve dropped it on accident on his way out. I mean- the fact that we came across it is a good sign. I-”

“May I?” A soft, low voice asks Hongjoong.

The warlock blinks his eyes open hesitantly. He didn’t recognize the voice. Upon seeing its owner, he realizes why. It’s the blond. The one who hadn’t said a single word up to that point.

“Wha-?” Hongjoong sniffs.

“May I touch it?” The blond nods to the blanket.

“Excuse you?”

Ravn buts in, “Leedo’s not as adept in communing with the dead, but he’s pretty damn good with the spirits of the living.”

“What?” Hongjoong cries.

“That blanket belonged to blondie, right? Leedo can touch it, use it to sort of pick up a scent. Maybe even divine his location.”

“Wh- Seriously?”

Leedo nods affirmitively.

Hongjoong yields, letting go of the blanket and allowing the other to do what he apparently is good at. Another wave of nausea hits Hongjoong like a truck, but he steels himself. An overwhelming part of him is utterly terrified that the witch will deliver dire news to him. All Hongjoong can do is watch as the blond shuts his eyes and considers the worn blanket.

The blond witch’s eyes shoot wide open, and Hongjoong’s stomach drops.

The warlock stutters, “Is- Is he-?”

“Something is here,” The witch tosses the blanket down and takes a step back.

“Is it Yunho?” Hongjoong asks.

  
Leedo’s head shakes fervently. 

“What is it then?” Joong demands. “Is it- Is he-?”

Leedo’s head keeps shaking. He doesn’t say a word, all he can do is shake his head. What does it mean, though? No? Yes? 

“Use your words,” Hongjoong pleads with the other. “Tell me what is i…”

A rumbling sound interrupts his begging. It starts off low, a vague hum drifting up from the forest floor. The sound grows rapidly, evolving into a loud drone. It sounds as if the trees themselves are reverberating, endlessly bouncing the ugly, disruptive buzz from one to the next.

Hongjoong’s heart stops.

Not of its own volition, though. He can nearly feel the hand reaching into his chest and squeezing it. A bone-cold wind blows through the forest, chilling him to the very bone and pulling goosebumps onto the surface of his skin.

“What- what is that?” Seonghwa asks, his voice airy as if he’s struggling to speak - no, to breathe.

Hongjoong’s head whips around. He sees Ravn, feet planted in place, eyes wide with terror in contrast to his lips which are cemented shut. Tears drop freely from the blond witch’s eyes but, yet again, no words come out. He doesn’t see anything else.

No, but he feels it.

Malevolence. A presence. Something quite literally petrifying.

Hongjoong tries to take a step. In doing so he nearly topples over, his legs shaking violently, all of a sudden weak.

“It’s coming,” Leedo murmurs strainedly.

“What?” Hongjoong asks.

“It’s coming!” Leedo repeats himself.

“Wh- Wh- What is- What’s-?!”

Ravn, out of his horrified trance, shouts, “We have to go, Hongjoong!”

Joong shakes his head, “But- Yunho-” Tears stream down his eyes.

“We have to go now!” The witch yells.

As if in opposition to its prey wanting to escape, the presence lets out a rumbling roar. It sounds unlike any beast Hongjoong has ever heard in his life. In truth, he isn’t positive that it can genuinely be called as a sound. It’s more of a feeling, something he interprets as a noise in his ears that still registers as mute.

“Let’s go,” Seonghwa urges the other warlock.

“Yunho-”

“Let’s go!” Seonghwa shouts again. The black-haired warlock grabs his friend by the sleeve and drags him forward.

Soon, the group is nothing but a blur of terrified wailing and dismayed cries.

* * *

“I think we’ve already been here,” Hwanwoong pouts.

“What makes you so sure,” Mingi groans. “Everything looks the same.” He swears, even though it hasn’t been long, it’s getting dark quickly. It’s starting to give him the creeps. Even so, in the name of manly and warlockly pride, Mingi refuses to show it. 

“Yeah, but remember this branch?” Hwanwoong - who apparently tired of walking a while back - floats over to a tree ahead of them and points to a Y-shaped branch jutting out from the trunk.

“No,” Mingi replies flatly. He’s starting to wonder if maybe they should just try and get out of there. It’s bad enough for Yunho to be missing, but for them to go MIA, too, seems counterproductive. That’s not his fear speaking in the least.

The lilac-haired witch rolls his eyes, “Here-” He snaps a branch, “-we’ll mark our trail.”

Mingi finds the “we” moniker bold. As if they’re a “we” and not two dudes who ended up getting stuck with one another due to unfortunate circumstances and dumbass friends losing them. The two continue making their way through the forest, the awkwardness between them nearly as oppressive as the general creepy vibe of the place.

It really does all look the same - something that does nothing to soothe Mingi’s nerves.

Yunho is bright, but the forest fucks with people. Even regular, run of the mill forests that aren’t wrought with unresolved spirits can turn people around and mess with their minds. A place like this? It can eat a person alive. Perhaps literally.

“Okay, I swear we’ve been here before,” Hwanwoong says after another ten or fifteen minutes of walking.

Mingi checks the area.

Trees. Trees. More trees.

“Have we?” The redhead asks rhetorically.

The witch glares at him, “You know, you don’t seem very invested in this.”

“What?!”

“I’m just saying. You’re staring off into space this entire time. Meanwhile I’m here trying to get some semblance of direction.”

“Wh- I- I am invested.”

“Do you even know where we’re going?”

“Do  _ you _ ?” The redhead retorts.

“It’s not my friend lost in the woods.”

  
“Wow,” Mingi’s mouth drops open. Is this guy serious?! “You’re the one who put him here in the first place, though. We wouldn’t be here if you just- just left him alone.”

“We didn’t know that this would happen!” Hwanwoong throws his hands up. “We thought we’d get a kick out of seeing a flying bed in the morning!”

“It’s mean. Even if he was the most powerful warlock in the entire school, it’d still be mean,” Mingi scolds the other.

“Most powerful-” The lilac-haired witch scoffs. “He doesn’t need to be even a fraction of that in order to levitate his own body. Maybe he should try harder.”

Heat flushes to Mingi’s face. He’s not typically the temperamental type, but Hwanwoong’s aloof sass presses buttons the redhead didn’t know he had. How can he be so dismissive? So uncaring?

“That’s not fair,” Mingi replies. “It’s not easy for him like it is for you.”

Hwanwoong halts in the air, and Mingi bumps into him.

The warlock grunts, “Hey- Watch it.”

“Look-” The witch drifts forward and gestures to a branch.

“What? Wait…” Mingi narrows his eyes, scrutinizing the thing. “Hold up, what?”

  
It’s the same branch that Hwanwoong snapped just minutes ago.

“I knew it,” Hwanwoong presses his lips together worriedly. “We’re going in circles.” He pivots in the air and starts floating in a different direction. “This way- this should work.”

Mingi rolls his eyes and follows.

“I- I think you should apologize,” Mingi demands, ears burning. This is the most assertive he’s been in - well, maybe ever.

“Seriously?”

“Yes. What you did was seriously fucked up.”

“Ugh- I told you, we didn’t know-”

“ _ Bullshit _ you didn’t know! I know you people can- can sense spirits or magical energy or whatever.”

“I’m sorry. Did you just say ‘you people’?”

“Oh, eat a dick,” Mingi scorns the other. “You know damn well I’m not trying to open a fucking discourse. You also knew that Yunho’s powers are weak, and you picked on him because of it.”

“We knew he was weak. Not that weak. We just thought it’d be funny if-”

“If what? You scared the shit out of a- a nice guy who showed you around the school? I bet you didn’t even know, but the whole ‘tour guide’ thing was a volunteer sign-up. None of us wanted anything to do with it, but guess who signed us all up? Yunho. Because he’s, like, the nicest guy ever and thought ‘hey maybe we could be friends and get to know them’.  _ He  _ did that. He- he just wanted to be cool, and you- you- urgh!” Mingi throws his hands up in the air, too angry to properly articulate his thoughts anymore.

“He doesn’t belong here,” Hwanwoong says coldly.

“What?!”

“Come on. I mean- If he can’t even get himself out of this forest, then it’s worse than we thought.”

“What?”

“I’m just saying- Whoa,” Hwanwoong halts again. This time, Mingi’s aware enough to stop before walking into him. 

“What now?” The redhead groans.

“Th- It’s th- that’s the branch, isn’t it?” Hwanwoong’s voice quivers slightly as he points toward a snapped branch.

Mingi tilts his head as he approaches it. It definitely looks like their branch. But what are the odds that they got turned around twice? After all, they’d walked off in a different direction. Plus, branches and twigs can snap for different reasons. 

Right?

“Let’s go in another direction,” Hwanwoong glides to the left.

Mingi stomps after him, not done guilting the other just yet, “Yunho does belong here.”

“No he doesn’t,” The witch replies. “What the hell are you doing at a magic school if you can’t even fucking fly? Literal children can fly.”

“And so what? He has magic in him! It’s just different. Weaker, yes, but it’s still there! He wants to learn about his powers, and he works at it. So- so has every right to be here!”

“Oh please,” Hwanwoong rolls his eyes. “He’s a wannabe who’s been indulged and coddled by your aggressively mediocre school. I bet his social media is full of moodboards with labels like ‘witchy vibes’ and that bullshit.” 

“Wh- That is- that’s- first of all that’s weirdly specific. Secondly that’s not fucking true. You don’t know him and- and even if he was the most- the most stereotypical tryhard wannabe ever, that still doesn’t mean what you did was okay! You should still say you’re sorry- Not just to him, either. To all of us. You guys have wasted, like, an entire day of our free time with your shitty fucking prank.”

“Okay- Fine- I- I’m sorry, okay,” Hwanwoong relents. He crosses his arms and his pupils flit around nervously.

Mingi’s anger drops immediately, replaced with pleased surprise. He didn’t actually expect the other to apologize. He’d already mentally prepared so many more mean, angry things to say, it’s almost a pity that the other relented so quickly. 

“You- You are- should be. You- you should be,” Mingi barely saves himself from the slip-up. He notices pink creeping up the other’s neck and tinting his ears. He’s embarrassed. Good.

“We- We thought we’d be, like, teaching him a lesson,” Hwanwoong admits in a low voice.

“Wh- A lesson for what?”

“That he doesn’t, like, belong here,” Saying it out loud clearly affects the witch. Judging by the humiliation painted on his face, it’s making him realize how stupid and prejudiced the idea is. 

Good.

“That’s not for you to decide,” Mingi says sternly. He’s surprising himself today. Braving a spooky forest, telling people off - Yunho would be so proud! “Things aren’t easy for him, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t deserve to be here.”

The witch glowers at the warlock and rolls his eyes, “So, what, I have it easy?”

“I mean- I didn’t  _ say  _ that, but compared to him-”

“You don’t know shit about me!” Hwanwoong responds annoyedly, walls rapidly erected yet again. “You think I’ve got it easy?”

“I mean,” Mingi shrugs. “You go to  _ The  _ Rouge Shadow Witchcraft Academy. So either you’re super rich, super powerful, super smart or some combination of the three.”

“Yeah, of course,” Hwanwoong shakes his head. “And none of it has anything to do with my hard work.”

“I guarantee you that Yunho works twenty times harder than you do.”

  
“Oh, if only that were quantifiable. I’d take that bet  _ any fucking day _ of the week,” Hwanwoong snarls.

“See, this-” Mingi laughs wryly, “ _ -this _ is why you get ‘you people’d.” 

“What?”

“Would it  _ kill  _ you to acknowledge that you have it easier than the rest of the magic community?” Even though he’s posturing like some self-assured, confident alpha, internally Mingi’s quivering in fear. God forbid the witch make an observation about his insecurities and comments on them. He’ll be dead in a ditch then. He’s not used to this - to confrontation or speaking his mind. Usually he just tries to be happy and upbeat. Confrontation is the opposite of what he likes, but not today.

“Are you- are we seriously having this conversation right now?”

“You’re just mad because you know I’m right.”

“Oh, please. What do you want? An apology?” Hwanwoong laughs. “Okay. Fine. I am sorry that I’m… Smarter than you. I’m sorry that I’m better at magic than you. I am so sorry that I’m hard-working. And  _ oh my god _ let me  _ apologize  _ for the fact that my parents busted their ass to give me a comfortable life. Sorry for that!” He throws his hands up. “How’s that for an apology?”

Mingi considers strangling him, but he opts not to. He’s pretty sure murder goes on his academic record, and he wants to get into his first choice for college.

“What I want- what we all want - is just an acknowledgement. You acknowledge that your upbringing and, yes, genetics, have given you a leg up in life. Just admit it. Just like I admit that my genetics give me a leg up in life in the more...  _ Literal  _ sense,” He pointedly walks his eyes up and down the witch’s petite body.

“Oh, going after my height. Funny  _ and  _ original,” Hwanwoong sasses. “I’ve heard it plenty. I don’t give a shit.”

“Really?” Mingi laughs. “If that’s the case then why are you deliberately floating so you’re as tall as me?”

The witch’s veneer of confidence cracks. He snaps his mouth shut and turns away. A rush of triumph surges through Mingi’s bloodstream, but it’s swiftly flushed out with guilt.

  
Seriously, Mingi? He chastises himself. Going after some dude’s height? Teasing him for something genetic that he can’t help? Even though height is  _ by far _ less consequential in one’s life direction than magical abilities, it’s still not cool to go after someone for it. Making fun of Hwanwoong for his height makes Mingi feel like he’s just as low as the witches teasing Yunho. Sure, Mingi isn’t dumping him in the middle of a corn field because he’s short, but he still feels bad.

“Hey- don’t worry about it, though,” Mingi attempts to recover. “It’s super cute.”

“Yup,” Hwanwoong replies snappily.

“My point is-”

“Acknowledging privilege. Whatever,” The witch says. “Hey, I think we’re getting somewhere now.” 

“Huh?” Mingi’s face lights up at the sight of what’s ahead of them. The trees appear to thin out, and there’s something beyond them. A clearing?

“Finally,” Hwanwoong says. “Something new.”

“Yeah. Let’s go see what it is,” Optimism sparks hope in Mingi’s chest. That glimmer lights up his entire face, and he eagerly trots toward the clearing in the distance. The thick forest grows sparser and sparser, underbrush giving way to grass.

“Yunho?” Mingi calls out in the distance. A clearing seems like a logical place a person would settle - right?

“Yunho!” Mingi shouts again, breaking out into a run toward the fast-approaching clearing. Silhouettes shift beyond the treeline, and Mingi breaks out into a sprint. He sees a shape like a person. He swears he does. It’s far, far away, but the bipedal gait is undeniable.

A wide grin spreads across the redhead’s face, and he sprints through the treeline into the clearing as if crossing a finish line, “Yunho!” He shouts.

His hope immediately disintegrates.

“What the…?” Hwanwoong slows to a stop, finally landing on his feet next to Mingi. The witch glances up at the sky - now a deep blue color tinted with shades of gold and pinks. “No. That- This isn’t- that’s not right.”

Mingi wrings a hand through his hair. 

  
What the fuck?

What the fuck?

He checks his surroundings over and over again - as if they’ll suddenly change. But no, they don’t. Behind him is the treeline leading into the thick, dense forest. In front of him?

The back of the Lee Taemin Auditorium. 

They ended up exactly where they started. Yet, somehow hours had passed in a span that felt like a fraction of the time.

“No,” Mingi lunges toward the treeline. “No, no, no. The sun’s gonna set and he’s gonna be fucked!” He laothes himself for getting so fucking distracted. Fucking Hwanwoong. Arguing with the witch must’ve made time go by a lot faster than it seemed. Not to mention what a disaster the distraction turned out to be for wayfinding. 

“Hey, hey-!” Hwanwoong runs after Mingi, grabbing him by the elbow. “Hold on! It’s not safe anymore!”

“Yunho’s in there!” Mingi shouts. He angrily shakes the other off and starts walking back towards the woods.

  
A strange noise stops him.

Mingi tilts his head toward the woods, sticking his ear out. A faint whistle trickles in. It unsettles him to hear a sound coming from the place that had been near mute when he walked through it.

“Do you… Do you hear that?” Mingi asks the shorter one. Hwanwoong nods much to Mingi’s relief. At the very least, he’s not going insane.

“It sounds like a… A whistling?” Hwanwoong replies.

“Yeah,” The redhead swallows nervously.

The sound grows louder and louder, and the two step back, afraid.

“It’s not whistling,” Mingi realizes. “It’s screaming.”

The two back away slowly as the wailing approaches closer and closer. Fear seizes Mingi’s heart, squeezing his insides like a boa. It’s loud, so loud, the sound. So full of pain, of terror. The screaming goes in through Mingi’s ears and resonates to his very bones. 

“It’s coming,” Hwanwoong murmurs, eyes wide and unable to leave the treeline. Mingi takes a step back further, ducking slightly behind the lilac-haired boy. 

_ “-aaaahhhhh!” _ The scream penetrates the treeline, loud and clear. The spiritual manifestation is not that of one but many angered souls. The collective break the treeline, hazy silhouettes rushing to exact their vengeance.

“Aaaaaaah!” Mingi screams, petrified. His knees lock up and all he can do is stand by completely powerless as the angry specter barrels straight into him.

The force knocks Mingi onto the ground, and he winces as pain strikes his spine and echoes across his entire body. When Mingi opens his eyes, he’s met face to face with a gaping maw permanently pried open in utter misery, howling like a banshee.

Wait a minute.

That’s Hongjoong.

Mingi blinks a couple of times to clear the spots out of his vision. When he comes to his senses, he recognizes the screeching spirits as actual people. The people he’d walked into the woods with, to be precise.

“Oof- Joong,” Mingi wheezes, “You okay?”

“Uh- Sorry,” The fourth-year stutters. He dismounts, muttering a few more apologies and dusting himself off.

“No, you’re good,” The redhead stretches as he stands. “Shit- Are you alright. You, uh, your screaming was impressive.” Mingi glances around to see just who else made up the “spirit collective”. There’s Ravn and Leedo - the other two witches; then of course Seonghwa. All members of the original ground team are accounted for. The reunited witches seem to be licking their wounds and exchanging stories while Seonghwa watches the edge of the forest.

But… Why?

“What’s going on?” Mingi asks Hongjoong concernedly. “You guys were losing your shit? Are- Are you alright? Did you find Yunho?”

Hongjoong’s face falls, and he shakes his head, “No, we didn’t find him.”

Mingi’s heart shatters. He glances up at the sky again. The sunlight is fading fast. He doesn’t have much time.

“What were you screaming about?” Mingi asks.

“Well, we- we did find something,” Hongjoong replies. “Or it found us.”

“What was it?”

“I- I dunno. I don’t want to know. But that thing ended up chasing us all the way back here.”

“Hey!” Seonghwa calls out. He nods toward the far edge of the treeline, “D’you see that?” Mingi and Joong join the senior by his side. Another cluster of silhouettes come flying out of the woods. Literally flying.

“Xion!” Ravn calls out, recognizing his friend before the rest of them. “Seoho!”

The clique acknowledges the black-haired witch, and soon enough they’re all landing and embracing one another. From what Mingi can tell, everyone’s just glad to have escaped with their lives.

Yeosang frowns, “This is the third time we’ve ended up out here.”

“What?” Mingi gasps.

San nods, “Yeah, we lost you guys early. Where the fuck did you go?”

“Where the fuck did you go?” Hongjoong asks. He turns to Mingi, “And where the fuck did you go?”

“What about you?” Mingi asks back.

“I- I dunno,” Hongjoong shakes his head. “I- I don’t know. But we did- we saw something.”

Seonghwa elaborates, a cresfallen expression on his face, “Yunho’s blanket.”

“What about Yunho’s blanket?”

“We found it hanging off of a branch. Nothing else. No bed. No- No him. Just his blanket,” Seonghwa frowns.

“Hey,” Wooyoung pops into the conversation, “Yeosang and I were talking and I think we’ve gotta say fuck this. We have to get a teacher- we’re in way over our heads.”

“Yeah no shit,” Hongjoong breathes out. He pinches the bridge of his nose and nods. “Yeo, Woo, can you guys go get a teacher then? Hell, I don’t give a shit if the Headmister knows. Just- Just go, okay?”

“Yeah.” “We’re on it.” The two nod, running off to finish the task they’d been given.

“We should go with them,” Seonghwa suggests.

Hongjoong lets out a chuckle and smiles.

It’s completely devoid of humor. A dark, nasty thing. He sets his gaze on the group of witches exchanging stories.

“We’ve got some unfinished business,” The warlock says.

Oh no.

“Hey!” Hongjoong calls out to the witches. They halt their merriment and regard Hongjoong with dumbfounded looks. “I think you owe us an apology.” He says sternly.

Most of them roll their eyes. It’s Keonhee he responds verbally, though.

“We tried to help you find your friend. You were right about the forest, I give you that, but I think we’re done here. You need to ask more advanced witches than us. The staff maybe,” A couple of the witches whisper to Keonhee, but the ice-cold witch simply shrugs them off. “We are going to cleanse our bodies of the bad energy, and I suggest you do the same.” He turns on his shoulder and, as if rehearsed, the other witches do so with him in perfect rhythm.

Hongjoong follows them and, ever the loyal friends, so do the rest of the warlocks.

“Hey!” Hongjoong calls after them, “That doesn’t sound like ‘I’m sorry’. Not even close.”

The witches ignore him.

The leader of the pack shouts again, “Hey!  _ Hey! _ Blue-hair”

“ _ Don’t _ call after me like I’m your fucking familiar! We’ve done what we can. Just let it be. Leave it to someone else and let this be water under the bridge.”

Hongjoong shakes his head and lets out a dry chuckle, “Is that what you would do if one of your friends was put in this situation?”

“No,” Ravn is the one who answers for him. He’s got that smirk again. That diabolical, shit-eating smirk. “Because  _ my  _ friends would  _ never  _ be in this situation.”

Mingi isn’t positive there was a right answer to Hongjoong’s hypothetical. But, gods, did Ravn just throw back possibly the most wrong response possible. The redhead’s jaw actually drops in pique. 

_ What the fuck? _

Even after experiencing the forest, they’re so damn smug and dismissive. Mingi’s starting to wonder if they have hearts or if they just handed them over to Rouge Shadow when they enrolled.

“Are you implying that this is somehow Yunho’s fault?” Hongjoong asks in utter disbelief.

“I’m sorry did that sound implicit to you? Let me clear that right up,” Ravn says, even taking a step forward. The tensity in the air is electric, threatening to shock anyone who dares venture too close. “Your friend Yunho doesn’t belong here. He doesn’t belong here - as in with us the magical world. If he did, he wouldn’t be lost right now and we wouldn’t have had to have spent hours in that hellhole.”

Surprisingly, it’s San who snaps first. The warlock shoots a hand out toward Ravn, and the earth crumbles under him. The witch’s jaw drops as the ground suddenly begins to swallow him up.

“That’s adorable,” Ravn huffs, climbing out of the hole he’d been put in. “How cute, you think you’re people-” He’s cut off by a stalagmite shooting out of the hole he’d been in. The craggy rock catches on the collar of his shirt, and he wheezes and coughs as San wills the materials of the earth to compress and grow, grow, grow. More rock juts out from the tall struture, binds tying down his hands to prevent him use of the most valuable weapons in his magical arsenal.

“You know what,” Hongjoong adds with a smirk. He clenches a hand into a fist, and it ignites with flame, “I think they were onto something back in the seventeenth century. I say we burn the witch!”

A bolt of ice shoots out from Keonhee’s hand, but a protective barrier vaporizes it in an instant - the work of Seonghwa, most likely. 

“Have you lost your goddamn mind?” The redhead Xion laughs. “You really wanna start shit with us? A coven of witches?” He holds up a hand and luminous blades appear, circling 

“Okay!” Mingi cries. “I think this is escalating-”

Hongjoong throws the ball of fire he’d had on his wrist at the foot of the stalagmite. The flames immediately catch, making a ring of flames surrounding the makeshift gallows. All the while Ravn curses down at them, red-faced. Seonghwa enables the leader by shielding him and Jongho deflects things coming from the areas Hwa can’t cover.

“I’m with the dumb one,” Seoho says, “Guys, this is too much.”

“Wh- Wait, am I the dumb one?!” Mingi points to himself and gasps.

“Ha ha ha-ha! Burn the witch!” Hongjoong cackles, obviously completely out of his mind at this point. San sure as fuck isn’t helping, joining the other in his chant. Actually, none of them are. They’re all just encouraging him, and the scene becomes more sordid by the second.

Witches and warlocks shout curses and insults at one another. Hexes and combat spells and elements are thrown back and forth. One of the witches is bound to a stalagmite that’d been risen from the earth by the will of a warlock and surrounded with a ring of fire. Warlocks shout “burn the witch” as they stoke their elemental flames until they’re just nearly licking the witch’s toes. The witch’s allies throw everything they have with no regard to actual safety. Ice shards sharper than a needle, mystical daggers composed of diamonds, ugly hexes that make mushrooms grow out of skin or inflict terrible clumsiness.

“Guys,” Mingi tries. “Guys, we need to stop this- this is insane!” 

  
“Burn the witch!” “Aaah-!” “-you fucking lunatics, untie me right now-” “Burn the witch!” “Don’t hurt my friend!” “Your friend is crucifying my friend!” “Burn the witch! Ha-ha-ha!” “Guys? Maybe we shouldn’t-” “Fuck you!” “Fuck you!” “You wish you could fuck me!” “Burn the witch!” “Guys?” “Motherfucking cun-” “Burn the witch!” “We should de-escalate this…” “Ha-ha! Burn!” “-m gonna turn your dick into a leek then we’ll see who’s laughing!” “Fuck off!” “-this fucking podunk, country ass school-!” “Burn the witch-”

“ _ Enough _ !” A loud voice booms thunderously above all else, and everyone freezes like they’re in a game of red light green light. 

Out of nowhere, Teacher Jongin steps onto the scene, beautiful brow knit in frustration and lips set into a displeased frown. The sight of a teacher saps the fervor out of everyone, and the shocked silence that ensues is so quiet that even the crackling of the fire sounds rude and imposing.

That doesn’t last long, though. An unfamiliar, gentlemanly figure arrives next to Teacher Jongin. He promptly casts a water spell to put out the fire, and the crackling soon gets stifled by the hiss of water turning to steam.

For a second, everything remains completely still. Nobody dares speak or even breathe too loudly. They all just awkwardly stare at one another, waiting for someone to break.

Teacher Jongin ends up being the first one to speak, “Would one of you be kind enough to explain to me what the hell is going on here?”

The witches and warlocks all exchange terrified looks. Divided they may be in personal matters, but on this they can agree: like hell are they about to tell the truth. Gazes scuttle around worriedly; however, nobody steps up and actually responds. The other teacher - a witch, Mingi guesses - steps forward.

“Ravn,” The suave man barks to the witch still bound in rock. “Why are you cemented to a giant stalagmite?”

The witch swallows nervously. He looks almost as afraid as he did when he’d been running out of the forest. His eyes dart around, and Mingi’s heart stops for a second. What if he turns this on them? What if he makes it into some hate crime or discrimination thing? He’s by far in the most vulnerible position of them all. Incriminating the warlocks would be a dick move but a strategic one, too. When the black-haired witch opens his mouth, all of the warlocks present hang on his every word.

“We’re doing a- a reenactment,” Ravn chokes out.

The warlock students let out a collective sigh of relief (not too loudly, though).

“A reenactment?” The witch teacher asks dubiously.

“Yes,” Ravn answers. “Of the- the salem witch trials, of course.”

“You just decided to do a reenactment of the horrific targeted slaughtering of our people… For fun?”

“It’s for drama club,” Hongjoong adds hastily. “Our programs are separate, but we thought this would be a fun way to come together. Not something we’d wanna do all the time, but we were thinking a collaberation for… Samhain.” The others roll with Joong’s quick addition, all nodding fervently and adding “yes”s and “yeah”s. 

From the expressions on their teachers’ faces, it’s clear they don’t quite believe the group. They aren’t morons, after all.

“Well,” Teacher Jongin coughs, “I do appreciate your enthusiasm, and we love to see you together, but, um, please get approval for your very realistic rehearsals before performing them. And, not so close to the forest, okay?” He flashes a disarming grin, and the students all nod affirmitively.

The other teacher, the witch adds, “Also, may I suggest a slightly less depressing subject matter for your Samhain performance?”

“Y-Yeah,” Hongjoong nods.

“I think you’re right,” Ravn says with a wry laugh.

“Damn, what’d I miss?” Yunho asks with a laugh.

“Yunho, shut up,” Hongjoong growls at the blond.

Then realization dawns upon him.

“Yunho?!” The senior shouts. He reaches out hastily, pawing at the other’s face, stretching and squeezing his cheeks just to make sure he’s real. “Yunho- You- You made it out of the forest wh- B-B-”

“What the fuck!?” “Where were you!?” “We were worried sick about you!” The warlocks heap onto their hours-long-lost brother, damn near squeezing the life out of him. Mingi ends up hugging Yunho’s knees. Relief rendered him unable to properly control his limbs, and he just ended up dropping.

“How the fuck did you get out?!” Mingi demands.

Yunho shrugs, “I walked.”

“Wh- N- B-B- We looked for you,” Hongjoong murmurs in a low voice so only they can hear.

“Really? I didn’t see or hear any of you,” The blond replies casually. 

As if he hadn’t been gone all fucking day.

“Yeah, no shit,” San replies.

“I’m sorry,” Teacher Jongin interjects, severely dampening their joy.

That’s right, Mingi remembers. Teachers are present. Consequences are a thing.

The warlock teacher frowns, “Did I just see you walk out of the forest?”

“I…  _ Yes _ ?” Yunho answers hesitantly. He holds onto Hongjoong and Mingi who are by his sides extra tight.

“The forest that students are very clearly told not to enter?” The teacher crosses his arms and gives them a stern displeased look.

“I… Lost a bet,” Yunho coughs out, adding more thread to their web of lies.

Teacher Jongin shakes his head, “Yunho- actually, all of you,” He addresses the entire group in a louder voice, “That forest is bad news. If you really wanna go into the woods, do the south woods - we’ve got trails there. The north woods are no good, though. I’m serious- especially to you newcomers, do not go in there.”

“Right.” “Yes.” “Yes, sir.” “Yes, teacher.” “Thank you, teacher.” A chorus of agreements comes in response.

Teacher Jongin nods, regarding the others, and once again an awkward quiet rolls in to fill the empty space like fog in the forest.

“So…” Hongjoong presses his lips together, eyeing the instructors. “Is there anything else we can help you with? Teachers Jongin and…”

“Junmyeon,” The witch introduces himself, “Kim Junmyeon. You can call me Mr. Kim or, of course your customary Teacher Junmyeon.”

“Nice to meet you, Teacher Junmyeon,” Hongjoong says, greeting the instructor formally. The other warlocks mimic the gesture, giving their own polite responses.

“Well then,” Teacher Junmyeon says, “It was… Nice to meet all of you. If you could just-” He gestures vaguely toward Ravn, “-get him down.”

“Right, right.” “Yeah.” “Yes, sir.”

“Right, well then. Have a good evening,” Teacher Junmyeon pivots on his heel and starts walking away.

Teacher Jongin gives a friendly wave, “Don’t forget, dinner’s in thirty minutes. You don’t wanna be late!”

“Yes, sir.” “Uh-huh.” “Okay.” “Thank you.”

For a second, everyone exchanges satisfied little grins.

They actually got out of that. They got out of that scot free - and Yunho is okay.

That’s the really important part to all of it, really.

Yunho is a-o-fucking-kay. Mingi still hasn’t unlatched himself from his friend’s knees, and Joong is wiping his tears on the other’s sleeve.

“We’ll see you at dinner, Teacher Kim,” Hongjoong says with a wave.

“Of course,” The teacher smiles kindly and waves. “Except for you.” His genial air completely drops when he looks to Yunho. It’s replaced with the rarely seen, scary Teacher Jongin. It’s not that he’s particularly loud or angry when he gets like that. It’s just so uncharacterstic of him to be dire or serious. The sight gives Mingi whiplash.

“Wh- Me?” Yunho points to himself, his lips turning down into a dismayed pout.

“Yes, you. How long were you in that forest?”

“Um, just a- a little bit-”

“It doesn’t matter. You’re gonna have to get checked up. Come on,” Teacher Jongin waves the other over.

Yunho sulks but does as he’s told plodding over to the Teacher’s side, “What do you have to check?”

“You’re gonna have to see the nurse and get checked for any spiritual contamination. Sometimes, spirits like to cling onto living people. Also your feet are bleeding.”

“Oh- Uh- Okay. Will I be able to make it to dinner?”

Teacher Jongin shrugs, “We’ll see. Come on. I’ll walk you. Bye, guys!”

“Bye.” “Bye, Teacher Jongin.” “Bye-!”

The witches and warlocks wave and smile until the teacher is out of earshot.

“Can you let me down now?” Ravn grunts. San snaps his fingers, and the stalagmite disappears in an instant, turning into dust.

“See?” Keonhee says, gesturing to Yunho and Teacher Jongin’s receding forms in the distance. “He’s fine.”

Ravn hoists himself up off of the dustpile he dropped into and coughs, “How about we all just forget this ever happened, yeah?”

Hongjoong glowers at the witches, “I don’t fucking think so.” He nods to the other warlocks, “C’mon, let’s go see if they’ll let us sit with him in the nurse’s office.” The others nod in agreement, following their leader toward the main school building. Hongjoong glances over his shoulder, leaving the witches with his parting words:

“This isn’t over.”

  
  
  
  
  
  



	5. Relaxing meditation

Taemin takes a deep breath, relishing in the delicate fragrance of bergamot. Steamy tendrils of vapor dance up from the delicate tea cup. While the witch normally loves to savor a morning cup of tea, the intention with which this one was poured was not one of enjoyment. Taemin takes a deep breath and blows icy breath onto the surface. He tips the porcelain to his lips and downs its contents impatiently. When the tea is drained, leaving nothing but the unfurled, reconstituted leaves sitting on the bottom of the cup, Taemin swirls it. 

One, two, three swirls does the trick. Just enough without being too much - something his mother always hammered into him since childhood. Lots of witches think of tasseomancy as nothing but a cheap parlor trick. Of course, lots of witches aren’t Lee Taemin. Tea leaves are unlike any other divination tool. They’re fluid and abstract - not like tarot cards or runes with assigned meanings spelled out to the diviner. Taemin almost pities them - witches with such distrust in their magickal intuition that they can’t fathom gleaning anything from perhaps one of the most profound insight tools a witch can use. He simply can’t relate. 

The idea that all future visions must be explicit, spelled out clearly is an irritating fallacy the traditional witch wish would die. He blames the instant gratification culture that humans have fostered over the past decades. Now, if something doesn’t make sense, people hit up a search engine. Some don’t even bother doing that, simply demanding answers be explained to them in length. It’s pitiful. Critical thought and intuiting seems to be a dying art, but it’s one Taemin has always trusted.

The Head Witch takes a deep breath and waits for the leaves to settle after his third swirl.

Tea leaves always appear clumsy and fortuitous at first glance. That’s how they ought to be. They look like exactly what they are - randomly scattered tea leaves. They need to be studied and scrutinized. The more one looks at them, the clearer their image becomes. Taemin does just that, observing the scattering of sopping leaves thoughtfully. He lets out a low hum as the amalgamous lumps start forming something more concrete, more recognizable as something one can see in the material world.

He notes the location of the clumps - how some formations cluster close to the handles while others reside due north, opposite the cup. Most of the leaves run up toward the side, a symbol indicative of events happening in the near future. He purses his lips at the observation. 

Running up the side by the handle sits a narrow clump that tapers almost into a point. A knife or a dagger. An omen of possible ruin at the hands of animosity and quarreling. Not good. Taemin’s brows furrow. His eyes drift to the opposite pole of the cup - due north from the handle - and his frown deepens. The double curved cluster appears avian, like a bird in flight. But what kind of bird? Taemin takes another steadying breath to clear his head so as to intuit what it is. After all, different birds bear different meanings. One can carry good fortune on its wings while another harbors death.

The door to the witch’s conjoined office opens, breaking the witch’s concentration.

“Good morning,” The warlock Byun Baekhyun strides in, shutting the door to the newly opened space behind him. So far, the two have barely spent any time in their shared space. As he’d planned it, Taemin knocked down the west wall to give them more space. They knocked out the back wall, replacing the entire thing with windows to give them a vantage of Wolfwood’s picturesque courtyard. The built-in bookshelves were ditched to further free up the space, the majority of their contents moved to storage. Dingy tile was stripped and replaced with chic dark concrete to match the whole “repurposed eerily industrial late nineteenth century asylum” look. Their two desks - matching L-shaped slabs - sit on opposite sides of the room. 

Taemin decorated his half with some light shelves that he adorned with Rouge Shadow’s most recent awards. Best Witchcraft School. The Buckingham Witch Society’s Recognition of Excellence. WICCA Magazine’s 2010 cover story chronicling Rouge Shadow’s longstanding legacy of excellence - and so many more. Too many, really. He had to pick and choose his favorite to put on display. A small wardrobe sits beside his shelves - just something to keep emergency outfits because one never knows what will happen throughout the day. Opposite his desk there are a couple of sitting chairs and a velvet chaise rests on the far wall. He likes to keep the top of his desk fairly uncluttered, letting only his nameplate and computer things occupy the space.

  
The warlock opted for much more personal setup, it seems. He’s got personal notes and drawings from students pinned to a door on his wall. A comically large mug sits on his desk, donning bright red letters that read: “SPELL THE TEA”. In it is a multitude of mismatched pens, pencils, and highlighters. Taemin wonders what on earth the man plans to do with them considering how little physical writing one does in their job anymore. There’s a lot of sticky notes affixed to the man’s computer, and files are stacked haphazardly beside it. He has a couple of minimal shelving units, too, packed with mismatched books and binders. While the chairs in front of his desk match Taemin’s, instead of a chaise he’s got an excessively plush couch with a few cushions. Taemin wonders if the warlock plans on spending the night. It seems like a ridiculous thing to do, but why else would he opt for something so cushiony?

Taemin lets out a huff of air, slightly vexed that his reading had been interrupted. He supposes it can’t be helped. There are much more pressing matters at hand - even more concerning than the fact that classes begin.

“Good morning,” Taemin replies to the other. “How is he?”

“Fine,” Baekhyun nods, practically throwing himself onto the nearby couch. Ah - Taemin makes the connection - that’s why he wanted a comfy couch. The warlock sinks into the cushions, wringing a hand down his face. “He’s fine. Upbeat and energetic as always.”

“You’re certain he’s right?” Taemin presses the other.

“Yes,” Baekhyun nods. “I just got back from the infirmiry. Miss Le has given him a clean bill of health. He’s good to go to attend classes today.”

Taemin nods. Le is one of his staff, a skilled, no-frills healer unmatched in her ability to discern multiple aspects of the spirit. If she didn’t notice any lingering presence or malignancy, then Taemin certainly can’t dispute it. Yet, even so, something gnaws at the back of his mind. His eyes drift back to the inside of his white porcelain teacup. 

There’s the knife, he’s decided. A warning of quarrels and rending rifts formed because of them. No doubt the melding of Rouge Shadow and Wolfwood are to do with the sign’s manifestation. Their merging has been civil, but little more can be said about the sharing of the Wolfwood facilities. Their real test will begin in a few hours, when the doors to the dining hall open up to over five-hundred hungry students ready to start their first day. Classes, club activities, and social interaction - the mixing of witches and warlocks both in the student body and staff - those will be the real tests of the “magical solidarity” Taemin lectured about on move-in day.

Opposite the knife, the avian creature yet unnamed pronounces itself.

Falcon - the sense arrives in Taemin’s mind, loud and clear. Of course it’s a falcon. The formation, while slightly vague, is slender with a wide wingspan. A pointed tip toward the head indicative of something predatory, a hunter. It lacks the bulk of a hulk but has far too wide a wingspan to be a lucky dove.

  
The Falcon - an unremitting foe that stalks its pray from above. From its position in the cup, the leaves point to this omen being that of an exterior force - an influence from the outside.

An enemy on the outside. A persistent one at that. 

  
Taemin frowns. That contradicts his initial assumption. It doesn’t make sense. Unless it isn’t referring to his Rouge Shadow at all.

“You’re certain that he’s alright?” Taemin asks the warlock.

Baekhyun frowns, “Positive. We’ve run every test imaginable. I mean- it was your staff that administered them. So, really, it was done by your protocols.”

“Yes, of course, I just-” Taemin flashes back to the night before.

The boy’s arrival into the infirmary had set off a panic in the wing. Initially, Taemin didn’t understand why his nurses had pulled him out of dinner, faces pale and voices hushed. He had heard of the forest during his first days of arrival. Yet he had never gone in. The warnings of those who’d been around longer than he were more than enough to dissuade him. He could feel the resonance from far away and felt content to leave it at that. Last night, though, he went in. After all, the more tenured Wolfwood nurses were in a panic. He had to understand why.

Understand he did.

Hundreds - perhaps even over a thousand - restless souls reached out for him. They yelled, whispered, begged, pleaded, their howls angry, confused, despairing. The cacophony alone nearly overwhelmed him. Within seconds, he knew that the forest was no place for any living being - let alone a child that could barely light a candle with his magic. How easily one of those distraught spirits could tether themselves onto one with such dull senses without so much as a whisper of an impression.

“-I worry,” The witch finished. “But I’m glad. Very relieved. I- I don’t know how that’s possible considering it had fallen dark…”

Baekhyun shrugs. It’s not even seven in the morning and he already looks done with the day. Taemin doesn’t blame him.

“I’m glad, too,” Baekhyun says, heaving a hefty sigh. He peels himself off the couch and strides over to the witch’s desk. “You ready for today?”

Taemin gives the other a wry grin, “As I’ll ever be, I suppose.”

“Right,” The other flashes him a lopsided smile. For such a seasoned, skilled warlock, the man comes off quite boyish. “Same. But- Hey, this day is gonna be awesome. It’s gonna go so, so well- okay, well, it can’t go too well.”

“Why not?” Taemin asks, confused.

“Because if it’s too awesome, you guys might never leave,” The warlock jokes. 

Taemin guffaws at the lame joke, “Right.” Though the joke helps alleviate some of the pressure, the witch’s mind quickly transitions back to his foremost worries. “About those woods…”

“What about them?” Baekhyun asks, brows raised.

“How have you gone so long without some sort of security system?”

“A security system?” The warlock’s face scrunches bemusedly.

“Wh- Yes!” Tae throws his hands up. “That place is dangerous. You can’t just keep it open like that. Why not set up a boundary or- or an alarm. You don’t even have any charms at the treeline.”

“Well, our property line technically spans beyond the treeline,” Baekhyun replies sheepishly. “Our barriers and protections extend there-”

“What?! That do anything to rectify the fact that there is an apparent hell in your- in  _ our  _ backyard.”

The warlock shrugs, “The truth is, it’s never been a really big problem for us.”

“I- Wh- How do you figure?” Taemin narrows his eyes dubiously.

“The spirits don’t bother us,” Baekhyun says. “I mean, they do  _ sometimes _ , but it’s not really a big issue. Usually it’s little stuff. An annoying poltergeist here, a possessed library book there. And this is the first time I’ve ever had a student actually walk in there.”

“Really?”

“Wh- Don’t give me that look,” The Head Warlock frowns. “Yes, really. If they wanna mess around in the woods, they go to the south woods near the entrance. Even us warlocks can tell that place is bad news. Nobody’s stupid enough to just walk in there. ”

Taemin raises his eyebrows incredulously, “Nobody?”

“Okay, well, nobody was,” The warlock’s grimace deepens. “I definitely didn’t think Yunho the type to do shit like that, but…”

The witch sighs and shrugs, “You know how kids are in high school. Always trying to one-up each other. Acting like they’ve got something to prove.”

“Hm,” The warlock’s eyes fix elsewhere with a faraway look in them. He’s thinking about something.

Whatever is on his mind, he doesn’t share it. He simply shrugs.

“We’ll keep an eye on him,” He says. His forlorn expression brightens, and he flashes the witch a grin, “Let’s go to the dining hall to greet the students.”

“Wh- Oh, is it that time already?”

“Just about.”

“Go on ahead, I’ll catch up in a minute.”

“Okay,” Baekhyun grins and waves before taking his exit.

  
When the other’s gone, Taemin opens up one of his drawers and withdraws a notebook. He quickly sketches the inside of his teacup and jots down a few notes. Further interpretation will have to wait. 

* * *

Exhaustion addled chaos reigns in the main dining hall first thing in the morning. Students sleepily line up to grab whatever breakfast items tickle their fancy on that particular morning. Some can only stomach a coffee or milk first thing in the morning. Others happily heap their trays with everything in sight - pretty yogurt parfaits, eggs prepared in any way a person could possibly imagine, fruits, meats, rice, broth. Everyone is simultaneously half asleep and hyperactive. The Head Witch and Head Warlock stand by the entrance to the grab and go area, greeting students happily. The first-day giddiness is real - that rare condition of people actually being excited for classes to start. They say that what’s old always becomes new again, and nothing could be truer to describe the first day of school.

Mingi ambles over to his friends’ unofficially designated table. The tray he’s floating next to him is pretty bare. He grabbed a yogurt and a coffee drink. As inviting as the enchanted cookingware making to-order frittatta looked, he knows himself. He definitely falls under the category of “I can’t eat that much first thing in the morning”. Not everyone does, though.

“Morning, sleepy.” “Mornin’ Mingi.” “Sup.” A few greetings come his way as he lowers himself onto the bench across from most of his friend group.

“Mn-” Mingi grunts because speech is difficult first thing in the morning. Everything is, of course - save for getting dressed which is pretty straightforward with a uniform. 

Wolfwood’s uniforms are pretty drab. Mingi still remembers the intense disappointment he felt when he first started touring high schools. All of the anime he had watched had  _ lied  _ to him. School uniforms are far from cute, cool, or flattering. As a matter of fact, they’re pretty much the opposite. Wolfwood’s school colors are midnight blue, dark violet, and silver. Students are allowed to mix and match a variety of frumpy pieces including but not limited to: white button-down shirts - a staple be they short or long sleeved, striped ties in the school colors, charcoal gray knit jumpers with the school crest, school tartan pleated skirts (which - no matter how many times people roll them -  _ always  _ manage to sit in a low, unflattering place). There are school tartan trousers - something that only the most confident, savvy seem able to pull off (a group in which Mingi does not reside). If someone’s feeling  _ particularly  _ frisky, they can swap out their jumper for a  _ sexy  _ sweater vest. Mingi’s pretty sure the only person he’s ever seen dare wear one is Mark. 

Mingi went for just the shirt, tie and navy slacks combo. Entirely too sluggish to put in contacts and too unskilled to enchant his eyes to work properly, Mingi went for the tradtional glasses for his first day. It’s simple enough and clashes the least with his hair. He doesn’t really care much, anyway. No matter what he puts on, it doesn’t look good. Having been designed with the intention of snuffing out indecent thoughts, any uniform item Mingi puts on exacerbates his already awkward, gangly figure. He’s got two choices of fit: swim in something too loose (his usual pick) or tug uncomfortably at the cuffs of things that are too short (something he resorts to when his laundry’s stacked up too much). He’s grateful that little accessories like rings, bracelets, and earrings are allowed - plus the huge pull student council apparently made a decade prior that enabled things like unnatural hair colors and releasing gender restrictions on certain items. At least there are other little bits and bobs he can use to not feel like complete shit about himself when he walks around the halls. 

The redhead glances across the dining hall and catches sight of a Rouge Shadow student. A pang of envy strikes his heart. They look so damn  _ sharp _ . In stark contrast to Wolfwood’s slouchy, slumpy uniforms, the Rouge Shadow students are dressed to kill. They’ve got deep red vests with silver buttons. The garments are tailored perfectly to emphasize the contours of their body, tapering at the waist and flaring out at the hips. Their white-button-downs have exaggerated sleeve cuffs with matching buttons which are probably a pain in the ass but, damn, they look cool. Some wear striped ties similar to the Wolfwood ties, others wear a bowknot tie while others wear traditional ones. The vests made to accompany skirts appear to be cropped to accentuate their box-pleated skirts. Otherwise people wear ones that go below the waist with black slacks. A few even top off the look with a black blazer that has the Rouge Shadow crest on it. It’s such a damn tryhard, extra thing to wear a fucking blazer with the weather how it is, but Mingi can hardly judge them. He probably would, too. 

“Their uniforms look so good,” Mingi pouts, dipping his spoon into his parfait.

“Meh,” Hongjoong shrugs. “They’re alright, I guess.” That’s easy for him to say. He’s one of the privileged few in the “I can rock the tartan slacks” group. Mingi’s pretty sure he’s never seen Joong look bad  _ ever _ . Not even during his mullet phase (“I’m bringing them back!” he’d say stubbornly).

“Alright? Dude, they’re flawless,” Seonghwa gawks next to Joong. The Rouge Shadow uniforms are right up his pseudo-goth alley.

“They look uncomfortable,” San comments. “Imagine sitting in something like that for eight hours - plus club time.”

“Ew.” “I’d die.” A couple of comments bubble up from the sleepy group. Mingi glances around, counting the heads silently. He sat between Jongho and Yeosang, and Wooyoung’s next to Yeo. On the other side there’s Seonghwa, Hongjoong, San and… 

“No Yunho this morning?” Mingi asks Hongjoong with a frown.

The fourth year’s bright smile falters, and he shakes his head, “Nope.”

After the melodrama of the night before, the guys all ate dinner and ran to the infirmary wing. No matter how much they begged, the healers adamantly turned them away. They insisted that nobody but staff was allowed in to see him, that they could risk spiritual contamination or worse. Mingi remembers pestering them for near an hour, reminding them that they’d already been “exposed” to Yunho’s presence. They weren’t hearing it. One of the healers threw them a bone, telling them that maybe Yunho will be let out later that night. That’s about all they got. Dejected, the group dragged their feet back to the dorms and tried to keep their minds off of it.

Guess Yunho didn’t make it back, though.

“I stopped by the wing before breakfast,” San replies. Figures. He’s an early riser. “The nurse on duty said nobody was there, though, and turned me away.”

“That’s… Good news, right?” Mingi posits.

“Or they’re lying,” Joong frowns.

Seonghwa rolls his eyes, “Why are you always so conspiratorial? He’s probably fine and they just let him go.”

“Educational institutions have tons of incentives to cover up mishandling their students’ health. I mean- why else would they not let us in?”

Yeosang snorts, “So, what do you think happened then? They hid him somewhere to avoid getting sued?”

“I’m just saying it’s weird they kept him over night,” Hongjoong shrugs. “And if it’s so urgent we can’t see him, what about his parents? Where are they?”

“Wh-” Hwa laughs. “Do you expect to be looped in to every development in his condition and its handling?”

“I mean-” Joong shrugs, “-it wouldn’t hurt. I am his roommate.”

“You wouldn’t care this much if I was sick,” Seonghwa argues.

“Oh my god, Seonghwa,” Hongjoong snorts. “Why does  _ everything  _ have to be about you?”

“Well, maybe if you  _ paid attention  _ to me,” Seonghwa takes n an exaggeratedly offended tone, slamming the table lightly. Mingi envies how damn awake he is right now.

“I do, but it’s never enough. You’re so demanding.”

“Because you never give me anything. When was the last time we made love?” The black-haired senior gasps dramatically and clutches his chest.

Joong tries to suppress his smile as he responds, “I told you, I’ve been tired.”

“A likely story. Or maybe you’ve been getting it from that  _ hussy _ !” Seonghwa jabs a finger in the direction of Wooyoung who’d been completely tuned out.

Woo raises his brows at the pair confusedly.

“Well,” Seonghwa presses, “Is it true? Have you two been- been  _ canoodling _ ?!”

“Uh- Yeah, sure, Hwa,” Wooyoung nods before returning to his kimchi fried rice. Seonghwa’s jaw drops and he lets out a horrified squeak.

“Baby, it was one time,” Hongjoong replies, voice shaky with laughs. “It was dark, I thought he was you.”

“How could you possibly make that mistake?!”

“Honestly, you’re right, his dick was way too big-”

“Who’s dick is too big?” A jovial voice crops up behind Mingi. If the redhead was more awake, he’d have probably jumped in shock.

“Wh-” “Holy fuck.” “Yunho!” “Motherfucker!” “Oh my god-”

Mingi’s heart swells with relief at the sight of Yunho standing there, totally fine. He slides onto the bench opposite of Jongho.

“What the fuck?!” Hongjoong is the first to address him directly, reaching over Hwa to punch the third-year on the shoulder. “We thought you were, like, dead!”

“Correction,” Yeosang says, “You thought he was dead.”

“Shut up,” Joong tells the third-year before turning to Yunho again. “What the fuck happened?! What went on in there?”

“Did they do a cavity search?” Yeosang tacks on with a smirk and a waggle of the eyebrows.

Yunho rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, “Sorry. I, uh, couldn’t exactly contact you guys. My phone was still back in the room.”

“Okay,” Mingi, finally waking up a little, asks, “So, what went down, then? Why did it take you so damn long?”

“Honestly, I don’t even know,” Yunho shrugs. “I was asleep for a lot of it to be honest. They bandaged up my feet - which are sore as fuck by the way - and patched up a few other little cuts. Um, for the spirit-y stuff, I dunno. They brought some witches around and did all kinds of, like, checks. They, like, waved their hands over me, consulted some runes, waved an egg around… I fell asleep after awhile and woke up and they had to, like, weigh me and took samples and shit.”

“Damn,” Mingi’s mouth drops open. That sounds like… a lot. “Did they find anything, like, bad?”

“Nah. I’m good,” Yunho says.

“Thank god.” “Oh, good.” “Yay!” 

“Well, fuck,” Hongjoong says, “Now that that’s over - and now that everyone’s here - we can start coming up with ideas.”

“Ideas for what?” Yunho asks. A few of the others wear equally as confused expressions.

Joong rolls his eyes as if his implication had been obvious, “Ideas on how we’re gonna get them back.”

“Get who back?” “You don’t mean-” “No.”

“Yes,” The senior insists. “Yes we are going to get them back. They messed with our boy-” Joong reaches in front of Seonghwa again to grab Yunho’s shoulder. (Hwa, all the while, pulls a dramatic pouty face.) “-we mess with them.”

Mingi coughs, nearly choking on a hunk of granola, “Uh- Does that seem like a good idea? Can’t we just pretend it never happened and avoid them?”

“Fuck no,” Hongjoong asserts. “Do you really think they’re gonna stop there? If we don’t let them know that there are  _ consequences  _ to their actions, they’ll probably  _ repeat  _ said actions.”

“You don’t know that,” The redhead tries. “I mean- the school year has officially started. I’m sure they’ll all be busy as shit with class and clubs and stuff. You think they really care enough to torment some warlock they don’t know?”

“I’m not gonna wait around until another one of my friends is put in danger to find out,” The leader responds. 

Mingi glances around, searching his friends’ faces for agreement. Surely, someone else has the sense to realize how fucking stupid it is to instigate more shit with that coven. Thankfully, Seonghwa appears equally as dubious, and Mingi’s even more grateful when he speaks up. 

“Joong,” Seonghwa says to his fellow senior, “C’mon, let’s let it go. Just focus on school.”

“I’m with Hongjoong,” San says. Of course he sides with the person who wants to wreak havoc. “If we don’t retaliate, they’re gonna think we’re weak. It won’t just reflect on us, but it could reflect on the entire student body.”

Jongho quirks an eyebrow at that, responding, “So, what, we represent the entire Wolfwood student body now?” The youngest chuckles wryly. “Who cares if they think we’re weak? They can think whatever they want.”

Hongjoong retorts, “What if they  _ think  _ they can pick on Yunho more because we won’t stand up for him?”

“Wh- Guys, I’m right here,” Yunho laughs sheepishly. “And, seriously, you don’t need to, like, defend my honor or anything. It’s- it’s fine, really.”

“No, it is not fine,” Hongjoong argues. “And you are allowed to say it’s not fine, Yunho. It’s okay to not be okay.”

“But I  _ am  _ okay,” Yunho replies, voice low and hesitant. “I got out fine. Just a few scratches.”

“Yunho,” Wooyoung pipes up, “You spent, like, an entire fucking day in those shitty woods. That is not fine.”

“They’re not gonna do it again,” The blond replies with a conciliatory grin. “I think they got it the first time.”

“Gods- Why are you so nice?” Hongjoong throws his hands up in defeat.

Yunho laughs at that, and Mingi’s stress level takes a much needed dip. Eager to change the subject, Seonghwa steers the conversation elsewhere with haste. Soon, they’re all asking Yunho about his time in the woods. The blond insists he just walked for a long time after a brief blackout. That’s it. It’s pretty much the same thing that happened to all of them. They walked around and somehow ended up back on campus. Mingi doesn’t know what forces are at work in that place, but he’s relieved they were - in a way - on their side.

Talk transitions to schedules, and everyone throws out their schedules. Hongjoong and Seonghwa have one overlapping class and a free period at the same time. Jongho, being the only second year, never shares any classes, but his free period is the at the same time as a few of the others. Mingi and Yunho somehow managed to get into Teacher Jongin’s elective physicality class while unlucky Wooyoung and San ended up getting knocked out due to it being full up. Unsurprisingly, Wooyoung and San share almost half of their schedule. Mingi is positive they share half of their brains, too. The pitiful odd man out is Yeosang who somehow has a schedule completely misaligned with everyone. He laments his insistence on taking journalism for his english lit elective whereas the rest went the boring path of classic literature courses.

Of course, before all of that can happen, they’re all to report to their home rooms. All too soon, spells are cast to clear table settings, and students trickle out of the dining hall in clusters. Mingi swallows nervously. It’s time to start. 

After all of the lectures telling him to give a “warm Wolfwood welcome”, it’s time for Wolfwood to welcome him.

* * *

Seeing witches in the hall is weird. Really, really weird. He’d gotten so used to seeing nothing but the same midnight blue, violet, charcoal and white everywhere. Now walking among the amalgam of gray are brilliant blurs of red and black. In just a single day, Mingi has managed to make the mistake of accidental eye contact more than he can count. His consolation is that the awkwardness seems to be mutual. Everyone appers to be sizing one another up. Witches and warlocks exchange quick glances, some succeeding in their mission to be subtle and some failing miserably. Every gaze is a rapidfire assessment, the result of which occasionally makes it onto the face of the beholder. Witches turn their noses up haughtily and warlocks glare. A few brave souls dare to smile, the intentions of whom range from wholesome to lecherous.

Mingi just wants to get to his damn class.

He expected the morning to drag on, but oddly enough time’s been running through his hands like water. Home room started at eight, and somehow it’s already ten-thirty. He’s got one more period before lunch time, then the remaining. His lack of a stomach for breakfast means that his stomach is always growling by the time lunch rolls around. At first, Mingi thought having a phys-ed type of class would be perfect before lunch. It would build up a healthy appetite while tempering the guilt he gets from overeating during lunch due to his lack of breakfast. (It’s a viscious cycle.)

However, Mingi’s feet are dragging as he makes his way to room 2021, one of the studios on the far side of the school. Instead of excitement, he feels utter remorse. He’s hungry, half-dead and now he has to go change into sweats and do some yoga-pilates-barre-dance hybrid thing. Maybe enrolling wasn’t his best decision. But! He gets to be with Yunho, which he’s excited about.

  
The warlock drags himself into the room, setting his books and bag down on the far side of the room.

Teacher Kim has already dimmed the lights a teensy bit, and a few candles flicker peacefully between laid out mats. As if trying not to fall asleep wasn’t hard enough as it is. The warlock sighs, setting his glasses down on top of his books delicately. A few students are already stretching on mats or chatting in low whispers. Others are walking in, gawking at the sudden shift in ambiance from busy school hall to zen studio.

Mingi glances around to make sure that nobody’s watching him. Yunho hasn’t arrived yet, and aside from that, everyone appears preoccupied. He quickly mutters an incantation and runs a finger from his shoulder across to the opposite hip. When he inspects himself again, he’s relieved to see his spell worked. Even though he’s cast the simple changing spell hundreds of times, he’s still paranoid about it. There’s not reason behind the paranoia, really, but he can’t help imagining a scenario where something goes wrong and he ends up in front of the entire class stark naked. Of course, for those who can’t (or don’t feel like) performing a quick changing spell, the adjacent classroom is converted into a changing room with a quick few spells to erect temporary walls.

“What’s up, man?” Yunho asks in a low voice.

Mingi greets his friend with a grin, “I can barely see.”

Yunho laughs, “Don’t worry, I can be your seeing-eye friend.” The bleary form grabs Mingi by the hand and walks him over to a couple of unoccupied mats. 

The redhead spies their instructor in the corner and squints, “Is Teacher Jongin wearing gray sweatpants?”

“Uh- Yeah. Why-?”

Mingi bursts up, “I think I want my glasses.”

“Oh my  _ god _ ,” The blond snorts, clamping a hand over his face to stifle the sound.

The redhead smirks as he paws around his stuff to grab his lenses. He snickers to himself, thinking that maybe he doesn’t regret taking this class after all. Mingi feels the cool metal of his round frames at the tip of his fingers, but for some reason, the laws of physics decide to send them flying. The redhead squeaks panickedly and chases after the vague shape as the slide across the floor. He grabs for them, and his fingers are nearly squashed under someone’s foot. Mingi flinches, as does the blur of a person standing above him.

“Excuse me,” The redhead murmurs deferentially as he slips his glasses on. The world comes into focus, and Mingi glances up to see who had nearly squashed his fingers. 

His eyes widen, and his jaw drops.

The witch seems equally as shocked to have encountered Mingi in a class setting. Yeo Hwanwoong stands over Mingi, brows raised and lips parted as if with the intention to speak. He doesn’t say anything, though. A black-haired person beside him - Ravn, Mingi remembers that - slings an arm around Hwanwoong’s shoulder, completely unaware of the warlock’s presence for a moment. The last time Mingi saw Ravn, he was sitting in a pile of dust after damn near getting burnt at the stake. Now, the fourth-year (at least Mingi thinks he’s a fourth year) witch is putzing around in sweats with his little BFF in magical yoga class.

“Woong what’re you- oh,” Ravn’s brows raise when he finally gets why his schoolmate had halted. “Oh, it’s- it’s you.” The witch’s expression darkens. 

Stress presses down on Mingi like a heavy weight on his shoulders. Mingi’s mouth flaps open with the impulsive desire to say something. But what?

Dumbly, the redhead lets out a grunt, “Uh-”

“Alright class,” Teacher Jongin’s voice bails him out in the nick of time. “Happy first day to everyone. Welcome back to those of you returning Wolfwood students, and a special welcome to everyone who’s here for the first time.” He smiles, and Mingi immediately feels more at ease.

The instructor continues, “Now, I would like to ask those of you on the mats to get up and stand at the side of the room for now,” He gestures. The lights dim further, and the warlock continues. “In case you couldn’t tell, half of the people in this room are Wolfwood students. Half of you are guests from Rouge Shadow.” The students study one another and nod in affirmation. Mingi didn’t notice it before (probably due to his own blindness) but after the teacher’s statement, he notices it. The two halves definitely don’t match. Wolfwood doesn’t necessitate uniforms for physical activity classes. They ask that the students abide by certain rules, but they aren’t part of the official uniform. Rouge Shadow, on the other hand, very obviously does. They’re all wearing matching, heavily branded outfits in their school colors. There are sleek leggings with designs running down the leg and comfortable looking shirts made out of performance material. Figures. Even in a laid back class they’ve gotta be flashy.

“I think it’s important that we all get to know one another,” The teacher says warmly. “So, I’d like a Wolfwood student to pair up with a Rouge Shadow student for today’s class. You’ll pick mats next to each other, and then we’ll begin.”

Mingi’s jaw drops, and he actually lets out a shocked squeak. Thankfully, he’s not the only one taken aback. The entire classroom erupts with devastated whispers. Mingi searches the room, utterly lost. He has to talk to strangers? He contemplates dropping out right then and there.

“Well, what’re you waiting for?” The tan teacher laughs. He’s clearly enjoying their misery. “Go on, make a friend.” He urges them. He probably sees his action as something akin to gently nudging students together or guiding a fledgling bird out of its nest. In actuality, it feels more like getting tossed into a pack of wolves - at least to Mingi.

The low murmur of awkward greetings hums throughout the room. Mingi scrambles on his feet, eyes flitting awkwardly across the Rouge Shadow crowd. People pair off surprisingly fast, and Mingi’s left scrambling. Every time he makes eye contact with someone, he chickens out, ducking his head down and scurrying past them. Almost the entire class is paired off when he bumps into somebody.

“Oof- Sorry, I didn’t mean to-” Mingi stops. Looking up at him is the lilac-haired devil known as Yeo Hwanwoong. He frowns and looks around, ready to run into someone else’s arms.  _ Anyone _ else’s arms. But everybody’s paired up, even Yunho. In spite of the fact that they can’t be paired, Mingi feels the twinge of betrayal. 

“You two,” Teacher Jongin calls out to the unfortunate pair, “There’s a couple of mats up here.” He points to the far left of the very front row. The witch and the warlock exchange distressed glances. “Come on, no need to be shy,” Teacher Jongin says.

With the teacher’s urging, their fate is sealed. Heaving a resigned sigh, Mingi takes his spot as instructed, sitting cross-legged on the mat to the far left. Hwanwoong huffily takes a seat on the mat next to him, frowning.

The handsome teacher smiles, looking over his class “Alright, now that everyone’s settled in, I’d like to begin with some basic breathing exercises. Sit in a comfortable, cross-legged position and close your eyes. Let’s begin…”

Teacher Jongin guides them through the beginning serenely, prompting them to breathe in… Breathe out. Breathe in… Breathe out. Breathe in… Try not to fall asleep - at least, that’s where Mingi ends up. Just two minute sin and he already feels dangerously close to the precipice of slumber. He sneaks an eye open to check across the room. Almost everyone else is abiding the instructions, head lolled slightly back and hands on their knees in quiet contemplation. The candles around the room float in the dim room, filling it with warm, flickering light. 

If only he  _ could  _ calm down.

The eerily close proximity to Yeo Hwanwoong of all witches on the entire grounds makes the warlock apprehensive. Why him? Anxiety buzzes around in Mingi’s chest as he attempts to at least appear relaxed.

“Very good,” The warlock teacher says, satisfied. “Now, slowly blink your eyes open and we’ll start with some individual stretches.”

Mingi does as he’s told, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose as he follows the instructor’s poses. It starts simple. Legs out and arms above the head, fingers interlaced. Rotate one way, then the opposite, then forward fold. Mingi winces as they get into slightly deeper stretches. He considers himself decently fit, but he’s not the most flexible. He tries not to strain his bad back, face contorting into a grimace.

He catches sight of the witch neighboring him, and his expression of displeasure deepens. In stark contrast to him, Yeo Hwanwoong stretches with ease and grace. He sinks deep into each pose, stretching his short, lithe legs to the max and twisting like a contortionist. Irritation flurries in the warlock’s chest. Of  _ course  _ Hwanwoong is flexible. Why  _ wouldn’t  _ he be? Because being perfect in basically every other way isn’t enough. He can’t just be good at magic and have a nice face, no, he’s gotta be athletic too.

“Alright, now let’s get back into sitting position,” Teacher Jongin prompts the students. “This time, in sitted position, please turn to face your witch or warlock partner. This means you’ll be sideways on your mat.”

Mingi frowns, awkwardly shuffling into the position. He tries to avoid eye contact with the short witch wearing a headband. A faint glimmer appears in the space between the matps, and their attention is immediately seized. Gradually, the glowing mass materializes into a spherical shape.

“These are simple crystal balls,” The teacher tells the class in a calm, hushed tone. “But as we all know, even the most unassuming of objects can hold great power if used correctly. Of course, we’re not worried about that right now.” He chuckles. “Right now, these orbs are clear and glassy. I would like you to continue with the breathing patterns we’ve been practicing and focus your energy into the orb - both of you. The goal of this isn’t just to merely channel energy into an object. We all understand how to do that. The key is to do so while maintaining perfect balance with your partner. It’s up to you two to figure out what that is. You have to sense the other’s aura and presence. I don’t want any talking, either. This is a nonverbal exercise. If you do so correctly, the orb will fill with a distinct, vivid color. It’ll differ for each group. But, if you fail, the orb might show something cloudy or muddy or faint.”

The warlock’s eyes widen with consternation, and when he glances at the witch beside him, the other’s got pretty much the same expression. Great. This is going to be so fun.

“Now begin,” The instructor says..

For a second, Mingi and Hwanwoong’s eyes lock. They wait for the other to make the first “move” so to speak - to exert their magical energy onto the object placed between them. The standoff feels like forever. They’ve both got dark eyes in a dark room, so neither can tell what the other is thinking. Is there a strategy at all? And what does the teacher mean by “balance” anyway? How can two total and complete strangers balance their magical energy after nothing but hasty introductions?

Hwanwoong is the first to advance. He takes a deep breath, and his gaze shifts from Mingi to the crystalline sphere hovering between them. The glass begins to tint in color - it’s a faint, iridescent lavender color. The aura wisps around prettily, silver flecks in the mix twinkling in the candle light. For some reason the sight of that alone disinclines Mingi from even trying. Hwanwoong’s aura color is so pretty, Mingi feels like he’ll ruin it. Then he realizes what a stupid thing that is to think.

Hesitantly, the warlock takes a deep breath and concentrates his own energy. His color starts to manifest in the orb, a separate clump of crimson. Mingi’s heart thrums with nervousness as he watches the energies meet for the first time. He can feel it, too, the other’s presence just ever so slightly impressing upon his. It’s akin to a partner stretch, he thinks, just for magic instead of the physical body. Of course, anything involving other people is bound to have loads of room for error.

At first, the contact of the two energies is cursory - like them. It’s cautious and fidgety, nervous. Two separate colors swirl around in the ball as if sizing the other up. Mingi frowns. They’re supposed to be meshing, right? Though he knows he shouldn’t, he sneaks a peek around the room. Some orbs already appear to have reached that happy medium. Others are - just as the teacher said - cloudy and muddled, faded to a sickly tone that almost looks like grave dust. Wrong. A couple flicker wildly between one color and another. A fight for control.

When Mingi glances back at his orb, he’s shocked to see that it’s almost entirely lilac, his red snuffed out. Embarrassment pricks his cheeks with heat at the discovery. He attempts to recenter himself and red swells up once again. In just a moment, the color is quelled. Iridescence reigns yet again, glimmering prettily. Mingi’s brows knit.

He hadn’t been trying hard, obviously, but if his partner is going to insist on misunderstanding the concept of balance - well, he’ll have to exert himself a little more. The warlock’s influence swells again, and crimson wraps around the little glass ball. Mingi actually hears a squeak come out of the witch. Serves him right.

Pocks of lavender pierce the red haze in retaliation. They pierce Mingi’s projection and shine through again, rushing to fill every bit of space in the object. Mingi’s irritation flares, and with it so does his aura. Red swells menacingly, exerting its place in the object. But the pastel color fires back.

Mingi looks up at Hwanwoong, and the witch is already boring into his eyes. It’s a nonverbal exercise, of course, so their communication is done as they were told. Mingi glares at Hwanwoong, and Hwanwoong rolls his eyes. The lilac aggresses itself in a swift attack, and the warlock digs in his proverbial heels further.

Crimson and lavender swirl violently inside the glass confines. They swish around, creating stripes like oil and water - together but completely unable to mix. Mingi wants to ask the other why he’s being such a dick. Why can’t he just let up? But Hwanwoong isn’t interested in talk - or relenting for that matter.

Their orb begins to turn. A hazy green-gray runs up from the bottom, threatening to soil their vivid auras. Mingi’s jaw actually drops. How dare Hwanwoong sabotage this easy assignment because of his pride! He projects more of his presence into the glass, but apparently Hwanwoong thought to do the same. 

Red and silvery lilac swish and roil angrily all the while the dull green tone seeps into the orb from the bottom orb. No, Mingi thinks, he is not dealing with this on day one of classes. He wills his presence to exert more power, to redden the orb so at least there’s something. However, the lilac is adamant. Adamant and so damn sparkly. The orb jostles slightly, and Mingi shoots the witch a dirty look. Is he trying to move it now? Is he out of his mind!?

Mingi stressedly joggles the orb of his own accord, just to piss the other off. It works, because Hwanwoong lets out a tiny, piqued squeak. Good. He should be upset. This is all his fault in the first place. Still, the green is there. Mingi concentrates all of his might on coloring the orb properly, and Hwanwoong huffs, mirroring the other.

The colors rage inside the glassy confines as almost the enterity of the orb clouds up with a disgusting green tone. The object rumbles, clattering across the floor - but Mingi isn’t about to surrender. He’s usually not this prideful, but after what happened to Yunho, he feels like he owes it to the other to at least not roll over.

Their orb is almost entirely tainted, but Mingi concentrates hard. He focuses and focuses and-

“Fff-!” “Oh my god!” The witch and warlock gasp simultaneously as their orb actually explodes. Glass shards fly everywhere, causing half the class to scatter in panic. All of the ferocity that Mingi mustered vanishes, and his expression drops into one of complete and utter bafflement. Hwanwoong’s lips press together into a thin line, and his eyes go wide. 

From the corner of his eye Mingi spots their handsome teacher stepping over to their corner of the room. With a sweep of the hand, teacher Jongin effortlessly gathers the dispersed glass shards (some of which ended up tangled in fellow students’ hair and clothing).

Teacher Jongin is warm and kind - he always is. That’s why upon the occasiona that he isn’t, he’s terrifying. It’s not to say that he appears overtly irritated. Because he doesn’t (which makes him even scarier). He’s the type who will sort of lock up and smile through the anger. When it passes, he just flashes an expression one would to their puppy after the animal’s peed on the carpet. It’s a sort of pitiful disappointment that always makes Mingi feel twenty times worse than getting yelled at would.

The handsome instructor sighs, “Looks like you two got a bit excited. Next time, please try to remain calm and follow the directions of our exercise. If it happens again, I’ll have to ask you to leave class.”

“Y-Yes sir,” Mingi nods. 

“Yes, Mr. Kim, I’m sorry,” Hwanwoong also responds.

“Well, I think we’ve had enough of that,” Teacher Jongin addresses the entire room (who’d been watching in stunned silence up to that point). With a wave of the hand, all of the glass orbs disappear. “Why don’t we do a bit of extra meditation before moving onto the next sequence of exercises?”

Mingi’s face burns with sweltering embarrassment. Being in the front has never been more detrimental to him as it is now. He can feel everyone looking at him, piercing eyes boring into the back of his skull, judging him. And it’s only the first day. His consolation is that: at least he gets to share the guilt with someone. 

  
  


* * *

“Nailed it,” Honjoong laughs from across Mingi. Lunch is typically served in the grand dining hall - at least, it used to be. This year, they decided to do things different. Lunch is served, yes, but students are allowed to eat in the courtyard or meet for club meetings. Mingi doesn’t get why they changed it, but he can’t complain. Laying out in the sun beats sitting down in the crowded dining room.

“Shut up,” Mingi pouts, throwing a few blades of grass in the other’s direction.

“I wish I was in your exploding class,” Yeosang sulks. He’s cross-legged a few feet away from Mingi, frowning at his yogurt.

“No, you don’t,” Mingi counters. “It was so awkward, I wanted to die. Then, like, the rest of the class Mr. Kim was staring at us. And he was like staring at me and- urgh!” Mingi throws himself back onto the grass and covers his face. “I wanna die.”

“Damn,” Seonghwa laughs, “Day one and you’re already there.”

“Bro, we had to partner stretches,” Mingi bursts back up, frustrated. Yunho just laughs. Stupid, friendly, likable Yunho. He got paired with a really bubbly second year, and the two seemed to get along well. Their orb turned out perfectly, a pretty turquoise color. Mingi’s glad the other had a good time, but he can’t help envying him just a little. Sure, his magical abilities are less, but his people abilities? They’re on point.

The redhead groans, “I had to like- We had to like-” He mimics the movements, “We touched toes and shit and, like, I had to push his leg down at some point and he-” Mingi shudders remembering it “-he’s so flexible.” A few sets of eyebrows raise at that, but Mingi opts not to indulge them any more than that. He doesn’t want to hear any stupid ideas or quips. 

“Sounds exciting,” San sleepily shrugs. He’d given up being awake long ago and lays on the grass, sprawled out with his arm covering his eyes. “As you can see, history wasn’t quite as exciting…”

“Wait-” Jongho chimes in, “Yeo, you didn’t tell us, why are you so…?”

“So what?” The brunette broods. Sure, he always harbors a slight air of donenness, but he seems extra over life. Mingi quirks an eyebrow inquisitively.

“Emo,” Jongho elaborates flatly.

Yeosang wrings a hand over his face, and his eyes flit away - that’s a telltale sign. He’s avoiding the issue. Typically, he’s blunt, but if something really troubles him, he locks up tight.

“Dude,” Mingi squints at the other third-year, “What’s up?”

Yeo sighs heavily, “It’s my journalism course…”

Hongjoong queries, “The one you’re taking for your, like, english and lit credit?”

“The very one,” Yeosang replies, a frown on his face.

“That bad?” Mingi gasps in surprise. Students who work for the school paper and yearbook are allowed to substitute participation in the organization for a typical english class. While it seems mighty appealing, it’s actually quite a bit of work - a lot of outside-class hours. Yeosang was so excited before classes began, beaming that he got in and that he’ll be one of the few videographers in the program. Their advisor - Teacher Aron - is pretty chill from what Mingi’s heard. So why is Yeosang so damn miserable?

“What happened?” Hongjoong gawks. “It’s been one day and half of us are, like, dead. Is the class really that shitty, Yeo? You can probably still swap your schedule since it’s early in the year.”

Yeosang wrings a hand through his hair and shakes his head, “No, it’s not the class, it’s just…”

“Don’t tell me we’re sharing the school paper with the witches,” Joong presses, expression dropping into vexation.

“Well, we are, actually, but it’s not that.”

“Wait- Serious?” “Are you for real?”

  
“Wh- We basically go to one school,” Yunho cuts in, ever the affable one. “It makes sense for there to be two newspapers covering current events and stuff.”

“Sure it does,” The unofficial leader of the pack retorts. He turns back to Yeosang, “Is anyone harassing you?”

“Well, sort of,” Yeosang worries at his bottom lip. The implication sets Hongjoong and San off. San jumps up from his reclined position and Joong actually flinches.

“Who is it?” Hongjoong asks.

“What do they look like?” San adds, interested.

“What year are they in?” “What’d they say to you?” “Did they do something?” “We can totally get them back.” “Yeah, you just gotta tell us, Yeo-”

“Wh- Guys, it’s not-” Yeosang attempts to respond, but being one of the quieter among them, his voice is easily drowned out by trigger-happy Hongjoong and San.

“It’s okay.” “You can tell us.” “We’ll think it through.” “We’re not gonna, like, hurt anyone, just-”

“No it’s- it’s not like that!” Yeosang tries, raising his voice surprisingly loud for himself. Mingi’s proud of him.

“Wh-” “Oh.”

Yeosang wrings a hand down his face and shakes his head, “It’s- it’s not about a witch.”

“Wh- Well then, who is it?” San asks.

“Yeah, Yeo tell us what’s going on? It’s been one day? What could possibly be so terrible that you wanna drop after one day?” Hongjoong follows up.

The brunnette grimaces - as if the mere thought of whatever incident had happened irks him. Resigned, the warlock strainedly discloses the true nature of his problem.

“It’s just that, well, for our paper we’ve got two videographers, and well the other one is-” He winces again, like even speaking about it is painful. “-it’s-”

“Yeosang! ‘Sup!” A boisterous voice thunders from a few yards away. Everyone’s head whips in the direction of the familiar bro-tone. Yeosang’s face wrinkles into a pained expression, and he quickly turns his reddening face way. “Yeo! Yeo- Yo, Yeo,  _ yo _ !”

Mingi squints, “Is that… Johnny?”

It is, in fact, Johnny Seo, striding toward them in all his tall, handsome, cocksure glory. He walks with the unbothered swagger of someone assured they’re invicible. He’s got a way too nice DSLR in one hand and occasionally peeks through the viewfinder at different things.

“Yeosang don’t be  _ coy  _ with me,” Johnny lilts in an exaggeretedly flirtatious tone.

“Yeosang why is Johnny talking to you like that?” Wooyoung rouses from his state of half-sleep to ask.

“Because, Wooyoung,” Yeosang mutters through gritted teeth, “ _ He _ is the other videographer at the paper-”

“Hi, Yeosang,” Johnny grins and waves, just a pace away from the other now.

Yeosang very clearly contemplates not acknowledging the other. Mingi can see the cogs turning in the other’s head. However, for whatever reason, the warlock obliges his apparent partner with a greeting.

“Johnny,” Yeosang raises his brows at the other expectantly.

Johnny smirks and lifts his camera, pressing the shutter button in a rapid motion. Yeosang freezes, irritated as hell that he’s become the impromptu subject for the other’s photo shoot. 

“Yeo, you ran out of class too fast,” Johnny tells the other.

“Die,” Yeosang tells the other flatly. Mingi coughs while Wooyoung and San stifle laughter. Jongho’s eyes go wide while the two fourth years exchange knowing glances. Yeosang doesn’t mince words. If he has things on his mind (like he always does) he’ll say them - whether wanted or not.

Johnny doubles over with a loud laugh and shakes his head, “Oh my god, I love this guy.  _ So  _ funny.”

Yeosang absolutely  _ fumes  _ a that. Mingi feels a bit guilty - but it’s kind of hilarious.

“What did you need?” Yeo asks strainedly, probably thinking of hexes as he speaks.

“You ran out so fast, I didn’t get to invite you to my party,” Johnny says with a grin. He turns to regard the others, “You’re all invited by the way. Beginning of the year bash. Southeast woods. Ten-ish Friday night. You know how it is.”

Mingi nods. He does know how it is. His jaw drops, and everyone exchanges a mixture of confused and excited expressions. It’s Wolfwood custom that every year there’s a sort of welcome back bash. Off the books, of course. No teachers, no meaningful authority or supervision. Students take to the (safe) woods, cast some sound blocking and light barrier spells, build a giant fire and do stuff. There’s always a few people who manage to sneak in booze and some other stuff. There’s usually a collection of raunchy games, too. Strip card games, spin the bottle. None of that is Mingi’s speed, but he respects all the chaos that comes with a boarding school party. 

It’s a fixture in the school year that sort of sets the tone. People pair off into their first semester relationships. Friendships get tested by alcohol fueled confessions and enemies are made by overzealous posturing. It’s a break in the oncoming tedium which is really the most important part. Everybody knows about it, all the “cool” people and plenty of the not as “cool” people go. 

What shocks Mingi is that the invitation is coming from the host himself. Johnny’s A-list as far as Wolfwood’s concerned. Everybody likes Johnny. He likes Johnny. The guy is genial and incredibly magnetic. Some rumors go around saying he’s got traces of some ancient, seductive race in his blood. Others swear it’s a spell. Mingi’s pretty sure that it’s actually just his personality. He’s actually super nice - in his own over the top, bro kind of way.

Everyone knows that Johnny is throwing the party, but not many get the invite from his mouth. Apparently, Yeosang does.

“Oh,” Yeosang’s expression of irritation falters slightly, and he flushes even more. “Thanks.” 

“Cool, see you there,” Johnny gives a noncommittal wave before sauntering off in some other direction. 

Awed silence lingers in the wake of the strange encounter. All eyes shoot to Yeosang in wait of an explanation. When did they go from zero to BFFs?

“What?” Yeosang asks vexedly.

“Wait-” Yunho connects the dots, “He’s your-” He snorts, “-he’s your other camera guy.”

“Why do you sound so entertained?” Yeo’s voice drips bitterly.

“Aw, c’mon, he’s not that bad.”

“You’re only saying that because you weren’t there,” Yeosang snaps back, stabbing his spoon violently into his yogurt. “Do you know how many ‘bro’s I got? And he’s really, like…”

“Nice?” “Friendly?” Wooyoung and San answer at the same time.

Yeosang rolls his eyes, “He’s like all extroverted and shit. He introduced me to everyone there.”

“Aren’t you supposed to know who you’re working with?” Jongho asks dryly with a smirk.

The look on Yeo’s face is like he just smelled something rotten, “Nobody asked you, Jongho.”

Laughter and jeering ensue. They all poke fun at Yeosang - shy, sarcastic, blunt Yeosang. He’s the least likely of all of them to be in with the “cool” crowd yet there he is, forcibly dragged there by one of the school’s most wanted. Talk transitions to the upcoming celebrations and pondering whether or not any witches will be in attendence. They tease Yeosang relentlessly then go back to teasing Mingi for breaking glass on his first day.

Excitement buzzes around them as they get ready to usher in the new school year. 

  
  
  



	6. Self expression?

Warm light trickles into Hwanwoong’s shut eyelids. He grimaces as the world materializes around him. Eyes sticky with sleep, he favors turning over to waking up. Unfortunately, the universe has other plans. The light persists even more strong than before.

Woong’s face scrunches with displeasure.

He bats absently at the alarm orb flitting around. It’s so damn annoying. Of course, that’s its job. His parents had charmed the crystalline sphere themselves with the express purpose of waking him in the most annoying way possible - and it works. Hwanwoong groans, turning over and stuffing his face into the down pillow he’d brought from home. (Like hell would he sleep on some stock pillow - let alone one provided by this place.)

“Woong,” A soft voice pierces the veil of sleepy haze surrounding the witch. Woong just responds with a gurgling noise. “Woong,” They’re more insistent this time.

“Just five more minutes,” Hwanwoong whines.

“You said that ten minutes ago,” Youngjo huffs. “Seriously, wake up- this alarm orb annoys me, too.” He barks, but there’s not really a bite. As intimidating as he looks, Woong knows better than anyone how much of a softie Youngjo really is. Behind the ritualistic name and dark eyeliner is basically a mother.

Hwanwoong supposes he can’t blame anyone. Youngjo’s done a good job cultivating that image - partially by intention, partially not. Not everyone’s lucky enough to know him like Hwanwoong. The two hit it off when Youngjo got matched with Woong his first year as a mentor. Woong remembers when the names had been drawn, how terrified he was. Even days in the first years whispered about the witch who went by Ravn. Some expressed fear that he’d eat them alive. Others clamored desperately, damn near begging him to eat them alive. Woong just wanted to get through his first year intact.

However, through dumb luck, he came to know not Ravn but Youngjo - the kind, brooding, artistic soul who’ll do anything for the privileged few he deems “good people”. They even dated. Second year, after over a year of shameless flirting and tiptoeing around one another they decided to make things official. The two ended up working out better as friends than boyfriends, but neither held onto hard feelings.

“Mn… ‘M fine,” Hwanwoong insists sleepily. His alarm beacon disagrees, unfortunately. It flashes more boisterously. Woong can feel the heat of it too close to his face, and he’s fairly certain it’ll start wailing if he doesn’t dispell it soon.

  
Arms loop around Woong’s back, and the witch allows himself to get lifted into a sitting position. His eyes protest, still drooping heavily.

“Get up. It hasn’t even been a week and you’re already like this?” Youngjo softly scolds him.

“Mm,” Woong grunts in response. His alarm beacon beams amber light straight into his eyes, prying them open against his will. Hwanwoong grimaces when he’s forced to greet the world. Perched beside him on the bed is Youngjo, expression half annoyed, half amused. The glimmering alarm orb floats just centimeters in front of his face expectantly.

“Ugh. God, I love my parents sometimes,” Hwanwoong mutters, batting the orb away. Now that the enchanted object’s gotten his attention, lights twinkle in front of it. Hwanwoong scowls as the twinkles gather and materialize into symbols and characters.

His problem of the day.

Hwanwoong’s parents are loving and doting. In their own way. Their idea of waking their son up involves quizzing him. They’ve been doing it since his first year of high school, insisting “nothing rouses the mind like intellectual stimulation”. Of course, when they gifted him the intrepid alarm orb, they neglected to mention that it’d scream like an unearthed mandragora if not answered in a timely fashion. That he learned the hard way. Many, many times.

Woong squints, half-blind without doing his daily routine of ocular enchantments. Today’s problem appears to be reading runes.

“Oh fuck,” Woong mutters, trying to interpret the ancient nordic symbols. He prays he’s reading them properly, lest he get doused in water or have a colony of light bees sic’d on him. “Um- Th- Earth- Odin-” The orb begins flashing, a sign that punishment is near. “Ff- Um- The past- the earth will be disturbed!” 

The flashing increases in frequency, and Youngjo groans loudly next to the other. Woong elbows him, muttering that if he’s not gonna help he should shut the hell up.

“Thirty seconds left to answer, Master Hwanwoong,” The orb says in a calm, high-pitched voice. Woong growls, cursing the damn thing under his breath. Unfortunately, his parents are incredibly powerful and he could never actually break their enchantment.

“Ummm- Um- Okay-” The growing urgency does manage to wake Woong up (which makes him loathe his parents even more - they know him so well in spite of handing him off to the ophair most of the time). “Okay- Um- That’s the- the earth symbol. Talking about the present… No- Future, that’s- future-”

“Twenty seconds left to answer.”

“Seriously, I can’t believe you do this every morning,” Youngjo chuckles.

“Wh- Shut up-” Hwanwoong glares at him. “Um- Okay the future is… Unstable? Earth is unstable? Shifting earths… Shifting grounds. Deception. Earth will shift in the coming future, revealing something yet unseen.” He hates runes. They’re stupid and ancient, irrelevant, vague as shit-

“Adequate reading, Master Hwanwoong. Have a good morning,” The flashing ceases, the orb returning to its calm silvery tone before floating to its perch on his bedside table.

“Oh thank you dark lord,” Hwanwoong heaves a sigh of relief, throwing himself back down onto his pillows.

“Wh- No! No, no, no-” Youngjo scolds. “C’mon you are getting up. If we’re late to breakfast we’re gonna get shitty seats and we might have to share a table with warlocks or something.”

“Ugh- You’re right,” The mere thought of sharing space with the warlocks makes Woong’s guts dip uncomortably. A combination of displeasure and a twinge of guilt cloy in his guts. He tries to shake the feeling off, focusing on more important things now that he’s officially up for the day.

He waves for Youngjo to get off of his bed and plods over to the little bathroom attached to their dorm. The setup is simplistic. Cookie-cutter in Woong’s opinion. Two extra-long twin beds on each side, a shared closet and a bathroom so small that one could realistically shower and brush their teeth over the sink at the same time. Wolfwood severely lacks the cozy, historic charm that Rouge Shadow has… Had. Woong frowns thinking of it. His old school was beautiful and stately. Rouge Shadow stood proud and tall, gorgeous detailing and inset windows drawing the eye with beautiful depth. The interior boasted carved wooden walls adorned with wallpaper panels and patterned tiles. Walking through the halls felt like being wrapped in a warm embrace. Clock towers and spires adorned with trefoils and windows finished with eye-catching stained glass depictions of the dark lord’s triumphs. Losing the school isn’t just a pity for the students or faculty - it’s a severe loss for history.

Now, they’re stuck in a  _ literal  _ insane asylum. Sure, the remodeling they’ve done has made the original purpose of the place… Slightly less obvious. But that’s about the extent of its charms, in Hwanwoong’s opinion. Everything is so modern and cold. Colors feel forced, like they’re swathed across walls or tile out of propriety so as to not plunge students into overwhelming depression immediately.

Hwanwoong sighs, stretching languidly as he forces himself out of bed. Not ready for walking, he just hovers slightly off the ground and snaps his fingers, incanting a quick spell. The cotton swabs and products he keeps in a drawer bedside spring to life. The drawer slides open and so begins his bewitched skincare routine. Woong can’t stand the sight of his face pre-routine, so he lets the tools do the work, cleansing water squirting liberally onto the floating swabs. The wettened swabs wipe his face as he takes out his phone and scrolls the feeds lazily.

He peeks a few selfies from classmates here and some scenic pics there. Geonhak posted a mirror selfie in the gym the night before, and Woong can see someone giving him a dirty look in the background. Youngjo, unsurprisingly, dropped a link to his most recent music project and in spite of his parents seldom being present, he can still hear their nagging in his head: “Why do you use that silly human gadget?” “If you don’t keep your grades up, that hunk of metal is the first thing we’re taking away, remember that.” “What could possibly be so interesting on there, anyway? Your brain is going to turn to mush. This generation…”

Woong grimaces, tapping the like button on each post more furiously than before, just to spite them.

When his face is wiped clean, his toner bottle floats up and wets another swap, patting his face gently. The process continues, all the while Woong watches little snippets of his peers’ lives. Essence rubs into his face as a video automatically starts. It’s a group of witches who look familiar - though Woong can’t place them. He scrolls past the video of stupid antics and spots one, two, three more selfies from Youngjo - seriously, when does he find the time? Then there’s a picture of Dongmyeong very obviously posing while trying to look “candid”.

Hwanwoong feels like a new person when his skincare’s finally done. He whispers another spell, prompting the skincare to neatly seat itself back in the drawer. The incanctation invites his makeup kit out, and he floats over to their closet as his brushes begin prepping his face with primer.

“I can’t believe you do this every morning,” Youngjo chuckles amicably. He leans against the wall opposite the closet and watches as Woong clumsily pulls on pants.

“What? You’re literally wearing eyeliner right now,” Hwanwoong responds with a pout. 

“Yeah, it’s friday. Fridays are special, okay?”

“Wh- Since when?”

Youngjo smirks. He gets a mischievous glint in his eyes - a look that Hwanwoong knows to be trouble.

“Oh, no,” The younger witch murmurs. “What are you gonna do?”

“Wh- Nothing!” Youngjo laughs. Woong narrows his eyes, and the other elaborates smugly, “Nothing yet. I don’t know what I’m doing, but…”

“But what?”

“Something’s gonna happen today,” Youngjo says.

“It’s gonna happen because you make it happen, or-”

“No, no, nothing like that. I just- Intuition, okay. I had a vision last night.”

“Ah,” Woong nods. Magic manifests in so many ways. Hwanwoong had never gotten divinings in his dreams, but Youngjo was burdened by foresights. For a long time, they gave him anxiety. He’d see something then agonize over its meaning the next day, damn near panicking until it inevitably happened. Once, in second year, he dreamed about a waterfall of frogs - then later that day, someone let all of the captive frogs for divination class loose. Another time, he dreamed about getting drowned in the ocean. The next day, a girl confessed to him and when he rejected her, she got so upset her salty tears started flooding the room. 

If Youngjo says something’s going to happen because he dreamed it, Hwanwoong believes it.

“What’d you dream up?” Hwanwoong asks, eyebrow quirked.

“Fireworks,” Youngjo says with a grin. “But, like, the feeling was amicable. It wasn’t bad or disastrous. Seems like today will be fun.”

“Oh, thank god,” The younger breathes out. He could use some of that. He’s been a bundle of nerves since, well, since showing up. As if school isn’t hellish enough, he’s still learning the layout of Wolfwood. Not to mention the warlocks. Their gazes are hefty, heavy with awkwardness as he passes them in the hall. He tries to keep his eyes on the ground, but he doesn’t always succeed. Whenever he catches someone looking at him, he promptly wishes for death. 

“Hey,” Youngjo’s demeanor changes. His tone softens and he squeezes Hwanwoong’s shoulder gently. “It’s gonna be okay.”

Is he that easy of a read? Woong curses himself. Bad anxiety and a bad poker face make for a bad combination. Still, it’s nice to hear reassurance from Youngjo. In spite of the ups and downs of their relationships, they’re still really close. Hwanwoong would easily trust Youngjo with his life.

“I’m- I’m fine,” Woong sputters, flushing with embarrassment.

“Of course you are,” The elder witch snarks, giving Woong’s cheek an affectionate squeeze. “And you’re also late.”

“Wh- Hey, I’m almost done-”

“You better hurry,” Youngjo opens the door to their dorm.

“Hey, wait-! I’m coming, I’m coming-! Don’t make me walk by myself I’ll get lost,” Woong whines, pouting as he lowers himself to the ground.

* * *

“-in… And out…” Teacher Jongin breathes at a steady, slow pace. His sound spell makes him sound as if he’s right in front of each student, even though he’s hovering in front of the class.

Hwanwoong cracks an eye open just ever so slightly. He gets way too antsy to fully give in to this “relaxation time” stuff. While he acknowledges the validity of attuning oneself to their magic with meditation, it’s just not him. Hwanwoong’s version of meditation is throwing himself ceaselessly into work. Stillness never fails to make him anxious. He was hoping that enrolling in this elective would help him work off some of that stress, not increase it!

Woong takes their final meditation time (which he personally calls the “try not to fall asleep challenge”) to glance around the room.The final stretch of class tends to run at a peculiarly sluggish pace. It’s right before his lunch period, too, which makes him extra eager to leave. Hwanwoong purses his lips, eyeing his classmates. They’ve gotta be done quick… Right? He checks for any indication of a near conclusion.

Their instructor floats, the picture of serenity, in the front of the class. He’s completely at peace. Or really good at faking it. Hwanwoong swoons internally. Perhaps the only good thing about getting thrown into a literal mental asylum is him - Teacher Jongin, that is. He’s everything a teacher should be and more. He’s kind, patient, accomodating yet firm. Handsome. Hwanwoong’s heard the man’s name whispered in the halls. A couple more savvy students even expressed envy when Woong mentioned who taught his class. Apparently, the man’s beauty has even reached the witch student population. 

Stupid, perfect Teacher Jongin, Woong laments. He tries to avoid looking next to him, but it is pretty hard to miss his warlock mat neighbor. Hwanwoong winces at the thought of him.

Song Mingi.

As much as he avoided learning the other’s name, Teacher Jongin insisted that they “make friends with your neighbors, you’ll be partners”. Of all warlocks to be in this class, why did it have to be him? Him and his manikin friend? It’s like the fates thought changing locations for school wasn’t enough of a curveball. Might as well add two overgrown warlocks into the mix, too. (Well, one and a half warlocks.)

Woong grimaces at the sight of the other’s vivid red hair. The bastard is so _ broad _that his knee invades Hwanwoong’s sacred mat space. He wonders if the other notices how discourteous he’s being. Probably not. He seems pretty oafish from Hwanwoong’s perspective. Seems like his growth focused more on his mile long legs instead of his brain. 

The warlock in question opens his eyes and turns his head as if sensing the other’s gaze. Not like Woong was gazing at him purposefully or anything. His eyes just happen to fall upon the other, that’s all. It’s hard to avoid the other, really. He’s tall with broad shoulders and cut features. He probably takes up half the hallway when he walks places. One word to describe him would be unsubtle. It’s like that for all the warlocks in that posse, but Mingi especially. He’s like a walking beacon with his bright red hair.

“...thank you, class,” The teacher’s soft voice cuts through Hwanwoong’s reverie. Woong tries to make sure his sigh of relief isn’t too evident as the lights come on. The class immediately animates, clamoring to the heap of bags at the side of the room and conversing. Woong damn near jumps off of his mat to do the same. He does his best to avoid the prying eyes of warlocks as he incants a quick changing spell and shuffles out of the room.

Hwanwoong takes a deep breath, basking in the warmth of sun and scent of fresh air as he steps outside for lunch. His tray floats beside him while he searches for his friends.

“Woongie!” Youngjo calls from his perch on a blanket across the courtyard.

Hwanwoong happily skips toward his friends, perching between Youngjo and Seoho. Though it hasn’t been quite a week, everyone is settling into their own personal routine. Geonhak likes to go “straight protein” during lunch (whatever that means) and he spends half the period training his body or something. Woong doesn’t know exactly what he does. He likes to picture him lifting weights out in the woods or something, though he swears it’s important. (“More important than lunch with us?” Woong pouted on their second day of classes. Geonhak flashed him a wordless salute before walking off.)

“Hi,” Woong answers as he grabs an apple off of his tray. “How’s your mornings been?”

“Eh.” “Fine.” “Okay.”

Dongju takes a plushie out of his leather satchel - an adorable brown bear with glasses, “I got this today.”

“What?!” Youngjo gasps, affronted. “From who?”

“I dunno, some thirsty warlock,” Dongju shrugs.

  
“Are you serious?!”

“Eh. I’ll add it to the pile. This one’s pretty cute.”

“At least it’s not one you already have,” Seoho laughs. The group always jokes that Dongju is part incubus or something. He has a certain quality that inspires doting admiration. Not even his closest friends are immune to it; Youngjo being especially susceptible to their youngest’s whims.

“Jeez, tell me your secrets,” Hwanwoong jokes, kicking Dongju across the blanket. “I want free shit.”

“Ow- Stop it- Get a sugar daddy or something, I don’t know!” Dongju winces, kicking back.

“Hit up our hot yoga teacher,” Youngjo snarks, elbowing Woong in the side.

“Oof- I wish,” Woong laughs. “Though I _ doubt _a Wolfwood salary would make anyone sugar daddy material.”

“Oh, true,” The fourth year laughs. “Still, at least that’s one good thing about this place. Can’t say there’s much else…”

“I don’t hate the grounds,” Seoho shrugs. “Like, it’s kind of pretty here.”

“Oh yeah the woods are _ lovely _,” Youngjo responds dryly. “I really love the haunted hell forest out back.”

Woong rolls his eyes,“Gotta love the pacific northwest. You like trees? We’ve got trees- oh, Keonhee!” He waves the tall witch over. “Over here!”

The last of their motley crew joins them, a jaunty skip in his step. His wide grin says that he’s got something interesting to say, and he can hardly keep it in until he’s seated.

“Somebody looks happy,” Seoho comments. He leans back on his elbows, happily soaking up sunlight. “Good morning?”

“It was okay,” Keonhee lilts, grabbing yogurt off of his tray. “Super excited because club activites finally start today!”

“Oh.” “Shit.” “Oh, yeah.”

“Hey,” Seoho sits up, eyes flitting around conspiratorally. “Did anyone else hear that they might be merging clubs?”

“Fft- oh hell no,” Dongju hisses. “Isn’t sharing grounds imposition enough?”

“Well, it’ll only be some of them, I think,” Seoho says. 

“Better not be my club,” Keonhee’s nose scrunches. He’s an ace among aces in the theater club. Unlike other schools, Rouge Shadow always favored arts and academics over athletic competition. Things like dueling and aerball take a backseat to theater, installations and various performing arts. Keonhee is an incredible talent - versatile, graceful, and vocally talented - but so are lots of other Rouge Shadow students. Due to competition and lack of seniority, he still hasn’t gotten a lead in any of the stage plays or musicals yet. No doubt the pressure of adding more people into the mix will just add to his stress.

Hell, it’d be a burden on almost all of them.

“Look what you’ve done,” Dongju says. “You killed his happiness!”

“Oh- That wasn’t the only thing, though,” Keonhee responds, smile returning. “I heard about something else. Wh- Hey, Dongju?”

“What?”

“Is- Is that guy waving at you?”

All eyes dart in the direction of Keonhee’s accusatory finger and land on a small cluster of witches in the distance. One of them waves enthusiastically to Dongju. They look… Familiar. It takes a few seconds of recall for Woong to place it: jazz ensemble. “Jazz” ensemble - air quotes very intentional. Every time Hwanwoong happened to pass their club room during activities, they were eating. They somehow manage to fit some practice in, though. Woong doesn’t know how, but their quaint little performances at the school festivals managed to appear put together. There’s only a half dozen of them or so. They’re often regarded around Rouge Shadow as the symphony rejects.

“I don’t know him!” Dongju retorts. He flashes a dirty look pointedly toward the offender. He skips off with his friends, either unnoticing or uncaring.

“Whoa, whoa, okay,” Keonhee holds his hands up. 

Woong quirks a perfectly done brow at that, “...Anyways. So, Keonhee, what was that other thing you heard about?”

“There’s going to be a party,” The blue-haired witch waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

“A party? Who’s having a party?” Youngjo asks.

“Nobody we know.”

“Huh?”

“It’s a warlock thing. Some school tradition, I guess. They gather around a fire in the woods and drink.”

“Don’t suppose they like to string up witches, too?” Seoho jokes. Youngjo rolls his eyes at the cutting remark. Woong laughs. It still floors him that something so damn dramatic happened in the first days of their arrival.

“Nobody mentioned witches,” Keonhee replies. “But! It’s inspired, isn’t it? I mean, like, we should have a party.”

Youngjo smirks, dark gaze sweeping across his group, “We could… _ Or _, maybe we could crash one.”

* * *

Mingi links arms with Wooyoung as they skip down the corridor.

Friday. Finally.

Their first weekend promises so many things. There’s a party, the free time, the recruitment fair, the light workload of the first week… But most exciting at the moment is definitely club activities! Woo, Yunho and Mingi have been in dance club together since first year. It’s hard - especially for Mingi with his back - but it’s fun and rewarding.

Whenever he does dance, Mingi just feels… Better about himself. He can’t think of a great way to describe it. He just feels like something greater than plain old Song Mingi. He becomes Mingi the dancer, the performer, confidently moving his body to the rhythm in sync with the others. His worries and inhibitions melt away. He doesn’t really worry about anything other than executing his moves. It’s a nice way to get out of his own head for once.

Plus, Teacher Jongin is their advisor and choreographer.

The first day of club is always abuzz with giddy students catching up and strategizing for the coming year. There’s so much to do on the first day: planning their recruitment fair booth, nominating people to be officers, coming up with song proposals, dusting off and warming up after a summer away.

“Think I should go for officer this year?” Wooyoung chuckles as they skip down the hall toward the big studio. They pass cliques of students from both Rouge Shadow and Wolfwood. Mingi knows that Wolfwood extra curriculars start forty-five minutes after classes the first friday. He wonders waht the Rouge Shadow witches are doing. Do they even have clubs? Or do they focus solely on academics? Maybe they just shine the devil horns hiding in their hair for fun, Mingi jokes to himself.

“I don’t think you fit the leg requirement,” Mingi snarks. With tenured members like Lisa and Lucas coming in as fourth years, the president and VP spots are basically predetermined. Both happen to share similar features - good looks, big eyes,  _ endless legs _ . “Maybe if we merge our bodies together, we might have a chance.”

“Ha ha,” Woo jokes. “You’re mean.”

“I mean, if you go for it, you’ve got my vote. Too much stress for me, personally.”

“I was joking, anyway.”

Mingi grins widely as they pass the threshold. It’s nice to be back. There are already students changed. Even though it’s not likely they’ll do more than freestyle or stretches, it’s still good practice. Their lovely advisor stands at the back in black sweats and a t-shirt. He glances across the wide studio with fondness in his eyes. It’s clear to anyone that he’s passionate about dance. Mingi wonders if he’d ever tried to pursue it. The man could make it, he thinks. The few times the club has bullied their instructor into performing, they were left awestruck. For whatever reason, though, he ended up at Wolfwood of all places. The third-year can’t begin to guess why. All he can say for certain is that he’s grateful.

He feels significantly less grateful when he notices an unfamiliar presence in the room.

“Hey,” Mingi lowers his voice and leans over to Wooyoung. “Who’s that?” He nods to a man standing by the mirrors, arms crossed with a stern expression fixed on his features. He’s dressed for exercise, too. But why?

“Uh- No idea,” Woo mutters. His brows furrow. “Did we get any new teachers this year?”

“We got like dozens of them with-” Mingi halts mid-thought, realizing what he’s saying. Dread makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. “-with… The Rouge Shadow witches…”

“Wha- You don’t think-”

“I don’t know.”

“Y’know, I heard rumors they wanted to merge some of the clubs. But, like, would they really- I mean- with us?”

“I- I’m sure it’s just a guest,” The redhead tries to quell their fears with the dismissive statement. He gulps nervously and tries not to be too distracted as he throws himself into the mix.

Students arrive, they change, they chatter and catch up. Yunho arrives a few minutes after Wooyoung and Mingi, changed and ready. More and more unfamiliar people file into the wide studio, and Mingi’s dread compounds. Maybe they’re first-years, Mingi thinks. He wants to talk to Teacher Jongin himself, but just as he manages to wade through the crowd of eager students around him, the other man claps loudly.

The room silences, some muting out of confusion, other in knowing obedience. Jongin joins the man’s side with a gracious smile. He speaks first.

“Good afternoon, everyone,” Jongin says, addressing the room with a smile. “We’re going to be getting started soon, but first we have to get some important house cleaning stuff out of the way. Please-” He waves, “-sit down, sit down.”

Everyone exchanges baffled glances as they lower themselves onto the wood floors confusedly. Once everyone’s calmed down, Jongin speaks again.

“Now, some of you know me, but for those who don’t, I’m Jongin, an instructor at Wolfwood. I am also the advisor for Wolfwood’s dance club.”

“And my name is Zhang Yixing,” The other introduces himself. That name is definitely not familiar. “I advise Rouge Shadow’s dance program.”

Oh no.

Suddenly, Mingi realizes that the room is split in half. He didn’t even notice before. Though not intentional, he sat by Jongin - as did all of the other Wolfwood students. Now it occurs to him that there’s a bunch of people seated in front of this other guy - Yixing - too. Unfamiliar people. Rouge Shadow witches. Without prompting they’d taken up opposite sides of the room. Mingi’s gaze darts to the opposite side of the room, and he jolts slightly. They’re staring.

Then again, he supposes, that’s what he’s doing, isn’t it? Him and all the other Wolfwood students. It’s like someone silently declared a staring contest. They’re all just sitting there, gawking at the other half.

“I imagine you’ve connected the dots,” Teacher Jongin picks up where the other left off. “But, if you haven’t, well- no need to beat around the bush with this. Our organizations are merging.”

A collective gasp comes over the room. It’s so loud and disruptive, it’s almost comical. Whispers surge through the crowd, an electric current, static jumping from one student to another. Their words carry rumors and reactions, outrage and devastation.

Mingi’s heart drops.

He didn’t think he’d react so strongly, but his frayed nerves start tangling into a thick lump in his gut. The anxiety sits in his stomach heavy, like a rock, weighing him down so much he fears he’ll fall through the floor. All he wants to do is dance. That’s it. Just dance. Have fun with his friends. Learn choreography. Look good on stage.

Now, he’s going to have to do that while feeling the constant pressure of condescending Rouge Shadow presence. He can imagine it already - snide words, rude remarks, unsolicited comments. Not to mention the competition. How can he possibly relax knowing not only other Wolfwood students but Rouge Shadow students are cloying for his position. The warlock is terrified he’s going to choke on his own dread at the rate they’re going - and club hasn’t been in session for ten minutes.

Yixing’s voice cuts through the noise, “We understand that this probably raises a lot of concerns. Jongin and I will be happy to discuss these with you after club proceedings. Due to the time constraint between now and our recruitment event, that will be among our top priorities.” He nods to the warlock teacher, prompting him to speak again.

“So, I know you’re all wondering how this is going to work. Obviously we have a lot of people here. There will be a division in this organization, but it won’t be by school. We’ll be dividing into two disciplines: contemporary and urban.”

A few more grumbles and whispers sound out among the crowd. It seems fair, Mingi supposes. He doesn’t know any Wolfwood students who ever practiced contemporary dance, though. Whether by intention or not, the school divide may persist anyway. It relieves a bit of the pressure strangling him from inside, at least. For that he’s grateful.

“I will be overlooking our urban crew,” Jongin says.

“And the contemporary dancers will train under me,” Yixing adds.

It’s surprising how well the two mesh. Mingi half wonders if they’d rehearsed or something. Maybe it’s a dancer thing, he thinks. He knows nothing of this Yixing character, but the man is intimidating. It’s definitely a far departure from Jongin’s kindly demeanor.

“Now, we’d like you to choose today, but we expect your placements to be finalized by next week,” Jongin informs them. “We’d also like any nominations for our board in by next week as well. We’ll be electing a singular board, so, one president, vice president, treasurer and secretary.”

“Each division will get a stage for our samhain celebration along with a joint performance,” Yixing says, “So that will be our big priority after arranging shifts for the recruitment.

The students give a collective nod of understanding. Quiet conversations continue throughout the crowd, the sound of them like the quiet babbling of a brook. The advisors invite everyone to stand up and get on the side of the room that matches the division they’d like to join. Unsurprisingly, few stir, but a few brave souls actually switch sides. 

While watching the awkward side picking unfold, Mingi’s eye just barely manages to catch sight of someone. As if his stress wasn’t bad enough, he petrifies in place when he sees the petite witch standing on the opposite side of the room. Even standing ramrod straight his head still doesn’t quite reach as high as those surrounding him. He’s got designer sweatpants and a matching headband wrapped around his head. His lilac hair falls perfectly over the black fabric. Something about that irritates Mingi to no end. Maybe it’s because his hair just never likes to behave so nicely. Or maybe it’s just seeing him. Again.

  
Seriously, why can’t he escape Yeo Hwanwoong? Even in spite of his best efforts, he’s learned the other’s name. The nerves in his stomach toil, simmering and churning until they turn into irritation.

“You look pissed,” A whisper next to Mingi forcefully pulls him out of his reverie.

“Wh- Huh?” Mingi blinks dazedly at Yunho, who’s been next to him. 

“It won’t be that bad, I don’t think,” The other reassures him.

“Wha- I’m not pissed. That’s- that’s just my face,” The redhead sulks. The truth is he is pissed, but talking about  _ him  _ sure as hell won’t make the warlock feel better. Not that there’s anything to talk about. It’s just that he’s forced to see and occasionally stretch with the witch every damn school day because, apparently, the forces of fate have a rude sense of humor. But it’s hardly worth mentioning. 

“Okay,” Yunho laughs dubiously.

Mingi rolls his eyes and wills himself to calm down. He throws himself into stretching and the subsequent exercises. A sound barrier is put up, and each instructor starts guiding their students through warm-ups. Though Mingi knows damn well he really should not be looking over there, occasionally - just occasionally - he finds his eyes wandering. 

Contemporary dance is so… Different. Mingi’s seen it, but he’s never done it. It’s very art house to him - a mish-mash of jazz, classical, modern and even ballet. They work en pointe a lot which seems exhausting. Mingi can’t imagine doing that with his back (or his coordination). They all look like they’re just centimeters away from getting kicked in the face.

The warlock pries his gaze off of the contemporary dancers and decides to focus on himself. Dance is the perfect distraction, and his attention shifts with ease, eager and ready to greet the new year.

* * *

There are always those eager to leave the second club is over and those who will linger until the lights are shut off and they’re basically forced out of the studio. Mingi’s kin are definitely of the latter variety. Half the lights are down, and the advisors are chatting quietly with the few remaining students who had the patience to wait in line for them. In lieu of their clubs merging, a lot of people had questions.

Wooyoung, however, is more concerned with how his body rolls look in the mirror. He repeats the fluid move over and over again, a staple of his sexy style.

“Yes, yes, we all know you’re hot,” Mingi laughs wryly, shoving him. 

  
“Wh- Hey! I was doing something!” Woo whines.

“Yeah, you were doing this-” Mingi imitates him, animatedly biting his lip. 

“Wha- No, it’s like this,” Wooyoung asserts, repeating the motion and adding a wink.

“You two are gross,” Yunho laughs. “Seriously- Stop before the teachers notice and call us out for being inappropriate.”

“Then I’ll call them out for censorship,” Wooyoung huffs. “This is dance. It’s self expression.”

A loud snort sounds out at that. Initially, Mingi assumes it’s Yunho, but when the blond gives him a puzzled look, it rouses suspicion. Whether due to intuition or dread coming to fruition, a shiver runs down Mingi’s spine. He turns around and sees a familar witch covering his face with his hand. Immediately, his temper flares. Mingi’s no Hongjoong or San, but in less than a week he can say he’s already tired of their antics.

“Something funny to you?” Mingi asks, crossing his arms. Hwanwoong’s brows raise with surprise, and his eyes dart around. Mingi glares at him.

“Hey- It’s fine,” Yunho mutters in his ear. “Seriously, let’s go.”

“Nothing,” The lavender haired witch says, throwing his hands up in defeat. “Nothing at all.” His expression is entirely too humored to be nothing.

Still, Mingi concedes that Yunho’s probably right. The first week back stress probably wound him up tighter than he thought, and picking fights isn’t going to help it. Mingi’s shoulders slump. He’s ready to call it quits when the snarky witch adds:

“Just your, uh, ‘self expression’.”

“Excuse you?” Wooyoung’s expression darkens. He crosses his arms and hunches over a bit. As confident as he comes off, he struggles just like everyone else. Dancing is a big deal to him, and having his dance talked down rudely - even if it’s just freestyle while he’s messing around - definitely drags him down.

“Sorry, not everyone’s into twirling like a ballerina,” Mingi steps in.

“Ballet’s an incredibly challenging and prestigious discipline of dance,” Hwanwoong answers cooly. His snobby air just makes Mingi’s blood boil. It’s weird, he’s never confrontational. Ever. But this witch just… He just brings it out of him. “As opposed to… Whatever that is. Don’t you think it’s a little inappropriate?”

“Hey, don’t worry about him,” Wooyoung bumps his shoulder with Mingi. “It’s obvious he doesn’t understand the first thing about sex appeal given that he looks like a fucking _ muppet _. I can’t imagine him trying to do our choreos.”

That shuts him up quick. The lilac-haired witch’s mouth snaps shut, and his eyes widen. Satisfaction surges through Mingi’s veins like a shot of adrenaline. But, much like adrenaline, it quickly dwindles.

He… Actually looks hurt.

But he’s literally the jerk who started it, Mingi tells himself. Still, the redhead’s brief bit of smug gratification ends up turning into guilt quickly. They didn’t really mean it. The headband is actually a pretty cute look on him (not that Mingi would ever dare admit he thinks so). The more he dwells on it, the shittier Mingi feels about it. Never in his life did he want to be a bully, now he’s stooped to the level of one. Except, this is one of the witches who threw Yunho into the woods. Wooyoung didn’t _ actually _ say anything _ that _bad - right? Cognitive dissonance rumbles in Mingi’s head like a cloudy storm.

Another witch, someone slender and cat-like loops an arm around Hwanwoong’s shoulder, “Woongie let’s go. We don’t have to indulge these people and their delusions.” The two stride away, noses turned up and gaze haughty.

“Y-Y’know,” Yunho chimes in after them, “I think there’s merit to lots of different kinds of dance!”

The witches are out of the room before he finishes the sentence.

Mingi huffs, stomach a storm of bad feelings after their encounter. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him. He swears, this isn’t him. The possibility that some ugly spirit latched onto him in the forest is a very viable prospect at this point. The warlock heaves a loud sigh, letting Yunho massage his shoulders as they stride out of the room. He reminds himself not to get too worked up. There’s so much to look forward to this coming year. It’d be a shame to let a small cluster of vocal assholes ruin that.

The trio grumble about their rude witch clubmates on the walk back to the dorms. They break off, Yunho joining Hongjoong in their dorm and Wooyoung going to the one he shares with San. Mingi shares a room with Jongho who’s either returning from theater club or already back. Mingi hopes that he won’t mind some quiet time for a bit. After his long ass day, his bed is beckoning him. The siren’s call of plush pillows and soft sheets are too hard for him to resist. He wants to fall asleep, to get some much needed rest and feel refreshed later.

  
After all, they’ve got a party to go to.

* * *

Hwanwoong buries his face in his pillow, clutching the down tightly. His will to move is basically nonexistent. The news about merging clubs brought on a whirlwind of emotion, and then there was the unfortunate aftermath… He’s grateful Ten was there. Hwanwoong always envied him. His dancing is beautiful and his confidence seemingly unshakeable. 

Woong hears the door open, and heavy steps tell him that Youngjo wore boots today. He doesn’t bother greeting him. Even without a word, Younjo knows what’s up. Years of friendship have honed Youngjo’s intuition pretty well. The fourth year perches on the side of Woong’s bed and pats his back.

“Woongie, what’s up?” He asks concernedly.

Hwanwoong merely grunts into the down of his pillow.

“Hey, talk to me. Is it about your club? Don’t tell me you had to merge, too.”

“You guys merged fashion club?” Hwanwoong rises from his pillow timidly.

Youngjo sighs, “Yeah. I mean, I guess it makes sense. Not like ours was big, anyway. Though… That guy who tried to burn me alive is there. So that’s a thing.”

“Oh.”

“He didn’t say anything, so that’s good. Could feel him looking at me from across the room a couple of times… What about you? So, they merged the clubs?”

Woong nods, “Mhm. Two divisions based on discipline now - contemporary and, uh, urban.”

Youngjo frowns, “Sorry.”

“That’s not, um- it’s not a big deal.”

“If it wasn’t a big deal, you wouldn’t be smearing mascara all over your pillow.”

“I- I’m not doing it on purpose.”

“Woongie,” The black-haired witch squeezes his junior’s cheek lovingly. “Woongie baby.”

“H-Hey, ow-”

“Tell me what’s on your mind. We’ve got a party tonight, I want you to enjoy it.”

“No, I’m not going,” Hwanwoong pulls away from the other and stuffs his face into the pillow again. “I’m sleepy. I’m just gonna take a nap and watch movies.”

“What? Why? Hey- Seriously, what happened?” Youngjo’s tone is more insistent and earnest. “Did… Did someone say something to you?”

“I- It’s not- it’s no biggie, I just…”

“No, shut up. Woongie, you can tell me.”

Woong can feel the other’s weight shifting until he’s laying down next to the smaller witch. Dead serious, he asks:

“Tell me who I’m killing.”

“H-Hey! No!” Hwanwoong gasps, levelling his wet-eyed gaze with the other’s now angry one. “Don’t kill anyone!”

“I will.”

“No, please, stop! I just- it’s fine, okay!”

“It’s not fine, actually,” Youngjo huffs. “Because you’re here crying, upset, when you should be super excited about the weekend or at least bitching about merged clubs. So, please, tell me: what happened?”

Hwanwoong heaves a sigh of defeat. He nibbles on his lip, picking and choosing his words. He really doesn’t want to escalate things. He feels like he’s already done that enough. The witch acknowledges that perhaps he’s had a part in fanning the flame. But there’s a difference between calling someone out for being inappropriate and attacking them! Right?

Woong pouts, asking, “Do you think I’m… I mean, I- I don’t seem completely, like… I’m not ugly, am I?”

“Huh?!” Youngjo’s eyes widen with shock. He clenches his fists tigthly. “Someone called you ugly?”

“Their words were ‘like a fucking muppet’. I- I dunno I told them that their dancing was sort of inappropriate- like seriously? This guy was purposely biting his lip and body rolling like someone in a trashy boy band! And he said- well, he said that I wouldn’t know anything about sex appeal because of how I look.” Woong sniffles again. Just recounting the experience makes his stomach clench with humiliation.

“I’ll kill him.”

“Yeah, but… Is he wrong?”

“Are you serious?! No, we are not having this conversation anymore,” Youngjo practically growls. He grabs the younger witch’s face and yanks him up so their eyes meet up close. “Hwanwoong you are cute, hot, sexy- literally all of the good adjectives!”

“Of course you’re going to say that. We’re friends. We dated.”

“Yeah, exactly! I have _ amazing _taste,” Youngjo punctuates the thought by squeezing Woong’s cry-swollen cheeks. “I wouldn’t date anything less than a nine or a ten.”

  
Woong just pouts in response.

“Listen. Here’s what we’re gonna do. We’re gonna get you dolled up in a fresh face, pick the most devastating outfits in our closet, and show up to that party. You’re gonna have witches and warlocks hanging all over you because you’re super hot and amazing.” He presses a kiss atop Hwanwoong’s head softly.

“Meh. Ugh- Youngjo you’re so gross. I can’t believe I ever dated my mom.”

Youngjo laughs. He just squeezes Hwanwoong even tighter, smothering him in little kisses. Even though he hates the way Youngjo suffocates him, the truth is, Woong relishes in the little bits of praise and affection. Batting at the elder witch gives Hwanwoong enough energy to get out of bed and get ready. For that, he’s thankful.

When he sees himself in the mirror, he cringes. There’s work to be done, but nothing a bit of makeup remover here and concealer there can’t fix. Each sweep of a brush across his face gives him back a little bit of the confidence he’s lost. He smudges and smokes, contours and highlights until that dumbass warlock’s words are but a meager obstacle in the way of a wonderful evening.


	7. Shawty fire burnin' on the dance floor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> // CHAPTER WARNING(s): underage drinking, vulgar language

“Where the fuck is Seoho?” Dongju groans, checking himself in the mirror. As has always been customary, the coven decided to add finishing touches to their looks together. It’s been sort of a tradition for them ever since Woong’s second year when Geonhak stabbed himself in the eye with eyeliner and needed emergency assistance. Thankfully, they managed to save the other’s eye, and they realized getting ready together is kind of nice.

It never used to be so crowded, though.

Dongju shifts the tone of his button-down, watching the color transform from deep red to a dark wine violet. He purses his lips, unable to commit to a color - and hogging the mirror while doing so. Hwanwoong hovers above his bunk. Pictures scroll idly down his phone screen as one of his many enchanted makeup brushes swipes highlighter on his cheekbones.

Geonhak chuckles in response to Dongju, “Probably picking out a sweater vest to match his fit.”

“He better _ not _!” Youngjo, also floating to free up precious floor space, exclaims.

“Mirror, mirror in my hand,” Keonhee, who’d taken up residence on Youngjo’s bunk, speaks to an intricate handheld mirror made of polished silver. By no means an oracle, the ornate object still holds value as a personal assistant much like Woong’s brushes do. “How’s my coverage look?” The tall blue-haired witch turns his head every which way to allow the spirited mirror to get a good look.

“Your makeup coverage is excellent, Master Keonhee. However, you forgot to set it,” A high-pitched voice answers from the object.

“Thank you,” Keonhee grins.

It’s always like this when they get ready together. There are a lot of crossing conversations and fine adjustments. To an outsider, they probably appear horribly vain (not that Hwanwoong gives a crap what any outsider thinks). To them, it’s a bonding activity, a calm before the disperse into a storm of social activity. Image consciousness is actually highly encouraged at Rouge Shadow (well, was, when it existed). Their Head Witch set the precedent for taking pride in one’s appearance.

“It’s the first impression you’ll make on someone, and no matter what your character is, it’s that very impression that will stick to the forefront of one’s mind lastingly.” He once said at an assembly. Sure, it was in regard to aligning with the dress code, but the way he presents himself shows it’s something he values in personal life, too. Someone like him - sharp and impeccable - appears completely unshakeable, and Hwanwoong aspires to that level of coolheaded confidence. They all do.

“Okay,” Dongju nods to himself, “Okay this is it. I’ll do red.” He nods to his reflection. “Wait. No. No. With my hair, it’s too much.”

“Why don’t you try silver,” Youngjo suggests, “Make it pop.”

“That’s… Not bad. I just don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard.”

“Hey, you think my muscles will rip this shirt?” Geonhak asks, flexing in the silky shirt he chose for himself.

Hwanwoong snorts, “No.”

“In your dreams,” Keonhee adds, kicking the other from his spot on the bed.

“I’m serious,” Geonhak sulks. “It’s- It’s tight- Look at it-”

“I can cast a clothes-ripping jinx for you if you want the full effect,” Their eldest snarks.

“How anime,” Dongju laughs. “Wait- Speaking of anime, where the hell is-”

A faint knock on the door alerts the coven to the arrival of their last member. With a flick of the finger and mental incantation, Youngjo opens the door for the other.

“Hey guys, sorry,” Seoho says sheepishly as he enters. “Got caught up in a game of- whoa. You all look so nice.”

“_ Just _ nice?” Youngjo fake-pouts.

“Yeah, damn. I feel kind of underdressed. But I did wear my-”

Hwanwoong glances down from his spot above his bunk and gasps, “Seoho, you are _ not _.”

“I- I’m not what?”

“Seoho.”

“What?”

“_ Seoho _.”

“I- It’s- This is my favorite sweater vest!”

Geonhak snorts at that.

“But- Look, it’s got a little embroidered squirrel- See!” Seoho points to it, and the dark brown engravement begins shuffling around across the knit fabric, wringing its tiny paws. 

“Oh, nevermind,” Youngjo says sarcastically. “It’s got a squirrel. We’re set.”

“Shut up- it’s gonna get cold later at night. Don’t you wanna be warm?” Seoho pouts. “It’s practical.”

“Practical for what purpose? Celibacy?”

“It’s cozy! And it matches my socks!”

“Oh for fuck’s- Woongie, we’ve got a code red!”

Hwanwoong laughs, floating down from his perch lazily. He and Youngjo grab Seoho by one arm and sit him down on the bottom bunk (forcing Keonhee to move his freakishly long legs). 

“Seoho, what would you do without us?” Youngjo smirks. With a snap of his fingers, the fabric wrapped around Seoho’s body begins to shift and split in places. Hwanwoong joins the other’s effort, summoning his makeup brushes over to help the cause. Sure, all they’re doing is crashing some backwoods warlock party, but there’s no reason they can’t be dressed to kill while doing it.

* * *

Mingi rolls around on his bed lazily. The grog from his too-long nap stubbornly sticks to his eyes, weighing them down and making it difficult to open them. The afternoon was a blur. There were classes, clubs and then… Sleep. If not for the incessant dinging of his phone, he’d probably have completely forgotten they had plans that night.

“Hey, Mingi, can you smell this?” Wooyoung, who’d invaded his room along with half of his friend group, shoves a bundle of fabric into his face without further ceremony.

“Wha-?”

“Smells okay, right?”

The red-haired witch slowly blinks his eyes open so he can give the other an adequately forlorn expression. How could he possibly run out of clean clothes already? They’ve only been there a week, and they wear _ uniforms _.

“Uh- Guess?” Mingi grunts, still half-asleep. 

“Sick,” The blur that Mingi knows to be Wooyoung smiles (or, at least, Mingi thinks he’s smiling) and throws what appears to be a colorful t-shirt over his head. 

“Why’d everyone come to my room again?” Mingi starts sitting up, wiping a hand over his face. He mumbles an incantation to bring his contacts over. He envies the rich folk who can afford the eye elixirs or correction procedures. Instead, he’s stuck with poking his eye like a sad mortal.

“Because we love you!” Woo answers.

“Where’s Hong?”

“Iunno. He’ll turn up.”

Mingi nonchalantly stuffs his contact lenses into his eyes, blinking a few times so he can see clearly. With clear vision, he can count the heads invading his little dorm room. Wooyoung’s by his bed pulling his shirt on. San’s trying to angle his phone to take a selfie with Yeosang and Jongho. Music plays across the room from someone’s phone. Judging by the woefully bland guitar-pop sound, it’s Wooyoung’s pick. Yunho’s got his head in Seonghwa’s lap in the bed opposite Mingi’s. He makes yarping puppy noises which Seonghwa indulges with pets.

Pretty standard stuff for the gang.

All that’s missing is the leader of the misfit warlock posse: Hongjoong. Mingi slides out of bed and stretches languidly. He’d fallen asleep in an oversized shirt and sweats. The shirt isn’t too wrinkled, so it stays. With another sleepy utterance, Mingi’s sweats swap out for jeans.

There. Ready.

“Seonghwa,” Mingi nods to the eldest. “Where’s your husband?”

“I dunno, probably cheating on me somewhere,” Hwa answers flatly.

“Already?”

Yeosang pouts, leaning his head heavily on San’s shoulder, “You know, we don’t have to go.”

“Shut up, Yeosang, we’re going,” Woo dismisses his longtime friend. The two - unlike most of them - go back to primary school. “We got invited by Johnny’s own mouth. We can’t miss it…! Also, we were gonna go anyway.”

“I wish Johnny would shut his own mouth.”

“I can think of a few things he could do with that mouth,” And in comes the ringleader of their circus, Hongjoong. 

Mingi’s brows raise with surprise at the sight of the other. Unlike the rest of them who went for comfort, Hongjoong is dressed to kill. If looks could kill, the redhead’s fairly certain he’d have died on the spot. Though he has no attraction to his leader, even he feels a bit weak in the knees seeing him. Hongjoong walks in with a confident swagger. His fitted black shirt shows his body off nicely, and his jeans fit sinfully well. Silvery chains dangle from his neck, catching the fading sunlight filtering in through the window. The leather jacket he paired with it complements the entire outfit, making him appear a lot more badass than he is. His slicked-back hair adds to the effect, showing off his undercut.

The redheaded warlock is lucky none of his friends are good at mind reading. Otherwise, they’d be able to tell that - at that moment - he hates Hongjoong. Just a little. The guy is so good at life. He’s so handsome and while he and Mingi have the same interests, Hongjoong just does everything better. It’s not real, toxic jealousy. Just envy is all. But, seeing Hongjoong looking like that, knowing he’d look like a jackass even attempting something similar, Mingi feels it spike just a tiny bit.

“Husband!” Seonghwa exclaims excitedly with his arms open.

Hongjoong pointedly ignores him, walking past and wrapping his arms loosely around San, “So, anyway, we all ready or what?”

The group exchanges glances of appraisal. Pants? Check. Shirt? Check. Shoes? Mingi needs shoes. He rectifies this by sliding his feet into a pair of sneakers under his bed. He remembers toeing them off just hours earlier and leaving them right by his bed.

“So, nobody’s gonna talk about how Hongjoong looks like a greaser?” Yeosang laughs.

“Hm.” “No.” “Nah.” “It looks good.” A chorus of unimpressed responses come out. 

“Right on. Right on,” Yeosang nods.

“Wait-!” Hongjoong halts, “What is our contribution? We can’t go empty-handed.”

“I’ve got it covered,” San smirks, reaching into the pocket of his hoodie. Though normal to the naked eye, from what appears to be thin air, he pulls a large bottle with a clear liquid. 

“Ooh.” “Nice.” 

“That’s our gifted potions maker,” Their leader grins with approval. Simulating fermentation with magic is one of the easiest tricks in the book. It’s a basic thing most people nail down by the second year of high school, but doing it well is another story. Most magically accelerated distillations tend to have an off-taste to them. Getting the timing and formula just right is a finicky thing, and it differs with every magic-user. Whether by practice or natural inclination, San’s got a knack for potions. Well, at least, boozy ones. 

Yeosang remarks, “Shouldn’t we wait until the sun goes down?”

“Oh, yeah. Huh. He said ten, didn’t he?” Woo mutters.

“Fuck you’re right. Wouldn’t wanna show up too early,” Yunho adds, “That’d be weird.”

“Then what the fuck do we do until then…?” Joong asks, clearly a bit flustered he’d gotten ready too soon.

Mingi purses his lips in thought. Suddenly, an idea dawns on him. Perhaps not his greatest, but one he thinks worth sharing nonetheless:

“So… Mafia?” He posits. The group exchanges cursory looks of interest.

* * *

The smell of damp woods drifts into Mingi’s nose as his group crosses the treeline to the south woods. Unlike the haunted-as-fuck northern woods, the south woods are a lot less dense and significantly less cursed. Pine needles crunch beneath their feet as they pass the threshold of the concealment barrier surrounding the fire.

The Wolfwood Welcome Party is like a torch passed down from one generation of Wolfwood royalty to the next. Mingi isn’t sure when it started, only that it’s been around for a while, and the general format is always the same. There’s a massive bonfire in the same clearing - maybe a quarter-mile into the woods, if that. The savviest among the A-listers cast protection spells to avoid detection - barrier charms, light-blocking fields, sound muting - then everyone steps in and parties. There’s usually drinking games, making out, general merriment and debauchery. It’s the type of affair that Mingi’s usually content to leave early, but with it being Hongjoong and Seonghwa’s fourth year - plus getting the invite from Johnny’s own mouth - he figures they’ll be staying longer.

In spite of being surrounded by friends, Mingi can’t help the chill of anticipatory nerves that comes over him. He’s not certain why, but he’s nervous. Maybe it’s all of the people around. Most of them, he’s known for years - or at least known of. Faces he passed in the hallway are suddenly turned toward him, silently appraising, sizing him up. He fidgets with the hem of the hoodie he threw on before walking out. Even though the sun bakes them during the day, in its absence, the air chills significantly.

Through the trees, they can see the amber light of the fire. The fire’s light paints long, spindly shadows behind the trees surrounding it. Shadowy figures mill about the tower of flames. The sound dampening spells hush what would be raucous merriment to white noise. It isn’t until they reach the clearing that the noise rises to what one would surmise as a normal level. They can hear music in the distance along with the hum of overlapping conversations.

By the time they arrive, the party’s in full swing. Mafia ran a few rounds long and, as always, escalated. Mingi hopes he didn’t get any marks from the roughhousing that ensued. When Hongjoong finally declared enough is enough, the sun had long set, and they all realized it was close to eleven.

Hongjoong takes an exaggeratedly deep breath, a smile blooming across his face, “Last welcome party.” He directs his smile to Seonghwa and, for once, it’s genuine. The two fourth-years exchange melancholic smiles, and for a second, the bittersweet feeling sweeps over all of them. For that moment, they’re all forced to confront the reality that time, that their experience and togetherness, is fleeting, something to be cherished. It won’t last forever, and they need to make the best of it.

“Face-ass! Face-ass!” A loud chanting interrupts the sentimental moment, and people run by in a blur. Mingi’s eyes blow wide open when he catches a glimpse of some poor student who’d gotten hexed to have, well… An ass for a face. The pitiful student’s tormentors run after them, cackling like hyenas.

And, with that, the moment died and abrupt death.

“Yikes.” “Well, that sucks.” A couple of Mingi’s friends chuckle beside him.

“Should we maybe do something about that?” Mingi asks.

“And get my face turned into an ass? No thank you,” Woo balks.

“No, no, he’s right,” Hongjoong replies. “We should do something about that.” He opens his hand, and a flame appears. With little regard for the flammability of the underbrush, he tosses it in the direction of poor face-ass and their tormentors before turning back toward the bonfire. “Handled!”

Mingi hears a faint scream in the distance but chooses to ignore it. He’s glad Hongjoong is on his side.

As they approach more closely, Mingi spots a large cauldron off to the side. A worn ladle stirs the brew slowly, rivulets of steam rising from the concoction. Students approach with mugs probably brought from their own dorm, instructing the charmed object to serve them more. 

“Ohmygod that smells so good.” “Mmmmm~” The group coos as they gravitate toward the drink like moths to a flame.

San deposits his contribution of magically fermented booze into the cauldron. A puff of steam rises from the center, and for an instant, the color changes, a brilliant red glow glimmering from within. The color fades quickly, and soon the homebrew assimilates with the rest of the mixture. Mingi doesn’t know what the upperclassmen put in the damn cauldron, but the potent ingredients always somehow manage to smother the myriad concoctions people pour into it.

Mingi conjures a mug, holding it out and waiting for the enchanted ladle to serve him some stuff. It feels pleasantly hot once filled. The heat seeps from the ceramic of his old mug into his fingers. The “cider” wreaks of cinnamon and cloves - hefty spices put in to smother the taste of alcohol. 

When everyone’s gotten their fill, they step back from the fire and turn to Hongjoong. The leader of the pack gives everyone a large grin.

“What should we drink to, d’you think?” Hongjoong asks.

“To… Health?” Jongho posits.

“To _ looove _,” San snarks.

Mingi rolls his eyes, “How about to not dying?”

“That’s so morbid,” Seonghwa comments.

“Yeah,” Yeo adds with a laugh, “What about: to not killing anyone.”

“Oh my god, week one and your eyes are already set on murder?” Yunho gasps.

“Yes,” Yeosang answers with a smirk.

“What if we do yes killing but no convictions?” Wooyoung eggs the other on.

“Oh for fuck’s-” “Dark lord.” “You guys are so grim.”

“Okay!” Hongjoong cuts in. “Okay, okay, okay-! Look, let’s just do to…” He lifts a mug up, and the others follow suit. “To a good ass school year, witches be damned.”

The group exchanges nods, and together, they repeat their leader’s words: “And witches be damned!” With that, they all put their mugs to their lips and tip them back. Mingi damn near keels over from the shock to his system. The cider is spicy, the faint apple-ish taste overpowered by cloves and cinnamon. Not to mention the sting of the alcohol. It burns his tongue and leaves a trail of flames down his throat. Normal alcohol takes a while to affect humans, so they say. But, of course, that’s not good enough for teenage warlocks with a questionable sense of self-preservation. With modern advances in potion formulation and bad judgment, the cauldron’s potent swill can make someone lightheaded in seconds. Mingi stumbles slightly. He feels like he’d been slapped in the face. A few mumbles from his friends inform him that they’re in very much the same boat.

“Shitting devils.” “That’s- That’s stuff.” “Oooh- dark lord-” They sputter. 

“Shit- That’s awful,” Hongjoong coughs. 

Mingi recovers from wobbling and laughs, “That’ll keep your little frame going all night, huh?”

“Fuck off. Let’s see if anyone’s playing aeroball or battleshots,” Their leader laughs, heading toward the far side of the clearing where more people are standing.

However, they don’t get too far before a booming voice shouts after them. Well, one of them in particular.

“Yeosang!” The voice of none other than Johnny Suh startles them like a clap of thunder.

Yeosang freezes, and for a second he remains completely still like that - like Johnny is some predator that won’t be able to see him if he doesn’t move.

“Yeosang, bro,” Johnny approaches. The rest of the gang parts, leaving their beloved Yeosang out to dry. Sure, one of them could intervene, pull him away or try to distract Johnny, but that wouldn’t be nearly as hilarious.

Yeosang’s face goes through a veritable journey of emotions as the other approaches.

“Yeosaaaaang-!” The tone of his voice makes it clear that Johnny’s adequately lubricated.

“Hi. Johnny,” Yeosang groans.

“Yeosang. Yeosang- What’s up, my dude? Having fun? You having fun?”

“Just, uh, got here Johnny.”

“Right. Fair, fair. Well, you-” He points right at Yeosang, “You have fun.” He winks and a massive grin spreads across his face. He strides away, quickly distracted by someone else around the fire. 

“I hate him,” Yeosang announces just seconds later.

“Oh my _ god _!” “He seems nice.”

“He’s, like, the nicest cool guy ever!” Yunho laughs.

“I hate it,” Yeosang gripes.

“Psh,” Mingi takes a tiny sip of his cider, face scrunching when it hits his tongue. “I’ll trade you partners. I take Johnny and you get tiny witch brat from my phys ed class.”

“The one who exploded the goblet?”

“It was a crystal orb, actually, but yes.” Just the thought of the incident makes Mingi almost consider drinking more, but the persistent burning in this throat stops him. Everything about it makes him want to positively die. Disappointing his favorite teacher, making himself look inferior to the patronizing witch, drawing the eye of everyone in the class. 

“Fuck, yeah, I’ll trade,” Yeo replies.

“Take him. He can’t be that heavy, the guy’s like five feet tall.”

“Damn.” “Ouch.”

“Wha- It’s true. He’s in dance club, too. Contemporary side.”

“Ugh that’s right,” Wooyoung takes another gulp, his face pinching. “He talked shit about my freestyling.”

“What?” “Seriously?”

Hongjoong’s brows knit, “Wait is this the same one that…”

“Yeah, he was with the goons that dumped Yunho in the forest,” Wooyoung huffs. “The dude’s a fuckin’ muppet. I said what I said.”

Mingi snorts at that, “Aw, come on. He’s just...”

“A muppet?”

“High strung. I was gonna say high strung.” Mingi’s mind goes back to their weird walk through the forest. The memory of the eerie place brings a chill to his spine; he drowns it out with another swig of cider and immediately regrets it. “Can we not, like, talk about him? I’m drinking to forget, not to remember.”

“Not like you guys aren’t the only ones with Rouge Shadow bitches in your club,” Hongjoong huffs. His grip around his mug tightens. 

“Oh right, the fashion club,” Mingi frowns, leaning over to squeeze his senior’s shoulder. “I’m sorry Hongie.” He makes an exaggerated kissy face.

The fourth-year warlock sneers, “I’m sorry, too. I mean, we’re all fucked, though, aren’t we? Did any club get out unscathed?” The lot of them exchange puzzled looks and then conclude that, no, none of them got out unscathed.

“I don’t think it’s that bad,” Yunho - lovely, optimistic, bright Yunho - says sheepishly.

“You keep saying that,” Hongjoong responds. “But you’ve got it the worst- unless…?”

“What? Unless what?”

“Yunho, don’t tell me you’ve got a big, fat crush on one of them already.”

“What? Shut up.”

“Well, do you?”

“I don’t. Why does romance have to be involved for me to, like, not hate being around them?”

“I definitely never said romance.”

“Hong!” “Fucking hell.” “Shut up!” A few others chastise their leader.

Yunho turns to Seonghwa with a smirk, “Why can’t you control your husband?”

“He’s insatiable,” Seonghwa comments dryly. “A wild mustang, untameable. And that-” He tips his mug, “-is why I drink.”

“I don’t think this is a healthy model for marriage,” Jongho jokes with a fake pout.

“Eh,” Hongjoong shrugs, “Fuck healthy. I think they’re playing battleshots over there. Battleshots?”

“Fuck it.” “To battleshots!” “I dunno if we should drink that much…”

  
In spite of their better judgment, the gaggle of babbling warlocks follow their leader across the clearing. The stress of classes and cohabitating with RS witches quickly gets forgotten. They shed their worries in favor of ill-advised drinking games and the company of their favorite people - one another.

* * *

Baekhyun frowns, melting into the massive leather chair in the lounge. The faculty residences - much like the rest of Wolfwood campus - got a massive update. Originally, staff would teleport in from home or take up residence in the old towers which had been nurses’ quarters in the past. Half of the floors had gotten relegated to storage, but with the addition of Rouge Shadow staff, they completely rearranged the spaces. Both towers were given a modern overhaul, making them resemble those posh industrial apartments that are all the rage in urban centers now. 

While many of Rouge Shadow’s faculty still prefer to teleport in, a surprising amount of Wolfwood’s have taken up residence in the towers. If Baekhyun had to guess, he’d say it was because the newly remodeled spaces are nicer than their permanent homes. At least, that’s his reason. They include features like polished concrete flooring and full-sized cauldron hearths. Baek’s pretty sure he hasn’t lived in a home with a soaking tub since childhood, and the idea of taking a bath without shrinking himself to fit in the sink thrills himself more than it ought to. The loft apartments (or, as Baek regards them: grown-up dorms) seamlessly weave the luxuries of modern design with considerations for technology and magical needs.

Hence, he finds himself enjoying one of the many extra perks of the place - a lounge. Unsurprisingly, it’s empty. While nice and spacious, the Head Warlock doesn’t see his cohorts having much use for the place. Many have families to visit or friends to see. A fireplace on the far wall warms him as he nods off. His tablet plays a VOD of a pro-gaming match he’d missed earlier that week. Even though he’s literally the Headmister of Wolfwood, he still can’t help the little twinge of paranoid guilt that strikes him. He keeps thinking: _ what if I get caught _?

Technology, while happily adopted by younger generations, is still a bit frowned upon in magical society. Traditional households bar it altogether. Unlike humankind, supernatural society doesn’t need to depend on it in day to day life. But… Baekhyun concedes it is kind of nice. It’s convenient and effortless - unlike magic which always involves some transference and expenditure of energy. Things that take materials, incantations and magical power can be accomplished with the tap of a button. Baekhyun isn’t ashamed of it or anything. He just hopes that nobody walks by and secretly judges him.

Baekhyun yawns, reaching out for the glass of wine floating nearby. It’s just shy of midnight, and he already feels his eyelids drooping heavily. The past week somehow managed to be incredibly long and lightning-quick at the same time. Just as he contemplates heading back up to his flat, someone steps into the lobby.

Baek scrambles, stuffing his tablet into his oversized sweatshirt in a desperate, reflexive attempt to hide - like he’d been caught watching something naughty. His gaze shoots to the entrant with wide eyes. He’s met with a rather amused gaze and pique of the eyebrows.

“Oh, hey Jongin,” Baekhyun greets the other sheepishly.

“You, uh, you good?” Jongin laughs, approaching the other. His skin glows with a sheen of sweat and he’s got a towel slung over his shoulder.

“What? Yeah. I’m fine. I’m-” The Head Warlock slowly pulls his tablet back out of his sweatshirt. He’s got nothing to hide with the other. “I’m good.”

“Watching VODs again?”

“This is mid-season for them, this is a crucial time, and they’re playing with subbing out my guy- anyway, why’re you so sweaty this late?”

“Working,” Jongin shrugs.

“You know we’re salaried, right? I mean, I’d pay you more if I could.”

“I know. Just going through some possible songs and ideas for Samhain. Two months is not a long time.”

“You’ll do amazing. You always do. They always do.”

“Yeah, but they’ve never had to split studio time with another club. Me and Yixing still have to come to an agreement. I think we wanna do a merged thing as well.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Hip-hop and contemporary.”

“Aw. Your old wheelhouse, right?”

“Old? Psh, I would _ still _murder a contemporary number.”

“Oh- Well, okay then.” 

“Of course, from what I overhear, Yixing runs everything by the Head Witch.”

“Oh. Oh- Do you think he’ll want you, to-”

“Yeah, I don’t know. Maybe not for us, but the combined thing… I mean, might as well,” Jongin shrugs.

The mere thought of going to Taemin with choreography terrifies Baekhyun. He can imagine the other taking the sheet and marking it up with his ridiculously expensive phoenix-feather quill. Baekhyun takes a hearty gulp of wine to recover from the brief stress spike.

“Hey, Jongin, how’s it been? Like, merging cultures and everything?” Baekhyun asks, fingering the edge of his wine glass idly.

“Hm?” The other warlock leans against a chair nearby and glances up in thought. “I guess I haven’t noticed much.”

“Really? But with the clubs- don’t you teach a merged class, too?”

“Oh, yes,” Jongin chuckles. “There have been some… Incidents. Or, well, maybe an accident is the word.”

“Accident?” Baek’s eyes widen.

“Nothing serious, of course. Just- well, there’s a lot of tension in the students. I’m hoping they can loosen up.”

Baekhyun wouldn’t mind if _ Taemin _ loosened up a bit. He doesn’t say that, though. He feels guilty for the thought afterward, realizing that he, too, would be a bit high strung if his school got burned down. Of course, the warlock can’t imagine things being remotely similar if the situations were reversed. He’s fairly certain he would get laughed at if he asked for _ his _students to attend the swanky monument to academic excellence.

“You look stressed,” Jongin breaks Baekhyun out of his reverie.

“Hm? Do I?”

“Is it the Head Witch?” He hit the nail on the head which Baekhyun does not appreciate. Talking about their sort-of coworkers like this isn’t professional!

“Shh!” Baek shushes him harshly.

“What? Seriously? You think he’s got a bug on us?”

“No-! I just-”

“Just the mention of him makes you jumpy. I was kidding, but now I wonder…”

“Jongin, stop. Let me enjoy me free-time in peace, without being reminded of… Work.”

“Work, huh?”

“Yes. Work… Stresses me out.”

“Aw, I don’t think he’s that bad.”

“Easy for you to say. You don’t share an office with him. I mean- Work!”

Jongin laughs mirthfully and pats Baekhyun on the head, “Have a good night,_ Head Warlock _.”

“You, too.”

Baekhyun sighs as the other’s footsteps fade toward the lift. He can’t wait for things to settle slightly. Maybe then he’ll have more energy to do things on a Friday night - instead of melting into a lounge chair and watching VODs. Or maybe he’ll just stay inside anyway. But at least it would be by choice! And not due to lack of energy! He eagerly anticipates that day. Until then, he’s plenty to catch up on and a cushiony, far too expensive chair to melt into.

* * *

Laughter echoes across the small crowd of warlocks gathered in the corner of the clearing. A tiny crystal bottle flies toward Mingi, and his clumsy hands scarcely manage to take hold of it. If not for his intervention with magic, surely he’d have dropped it. And what a shame that would’ve been given its contents.

A happy, warm buzz swims through his veins, making him feel like his entire body is floating. It isn’t - something he’s checked multiple times because occasionally one does float inadvertently. The redheaded warlock scrunches his nose and uncorks the little bottle. Even from the tiny opening, the potion’s smell is potent and sharp. Before he can second guess himself too much, Mingi parts his lips, tipping the bottle and pouring in the slightest splash onto his tongue. He nearly coughs, his tongue and sinuses assaulted by the taste of grass, underlined with something sour. Sputtering, Mingi recaps the bottle and tosses it aside, letting it float on to the next participant.

Never Have I Ever is a staple game at parties where people have alcohol and few other ideas as to what they’re doing. Obviously, possessing supernatural powers inclines warlocks to up the ante a teeny bit.

Mingi blinks rapidly, eyes watering from the arresting taste of the truth potion. It lingers stubbornly on his tongue, and he’s fairly certain not even the spiced cider can top it in potency. 

A few others in the cluster they’d found themselves in take the potion before it begins. Mingi sort-of recognizes the girl who starts, instructing everyone to put their hands up - five fingers. He obliges, along with the rest of his friends, and they begin. Laughter rumbles out of his chest seemingly of its own volition. He can’t help it - everything is funny, laced with the ticklish warmth that pleasantly bakes his insides.

“Okay-” It’s Wooyoung’s turn - it’s Wooyoung’s turn? Mingi doesn’t remember when that happened. He must have missed a round or two. Nobody called him on it, though.

Woo giggles as he waves his hand (only four fingers up at this point), “Never have I ever… Sucked toes.”

A few laughs and gasps sound out across the crowd. Everyone watches one another pointedly, waiting for fingers to go down. Mingi’s jaw drops when he sees Seonghwa put his finger down, face alight.

“What the-” “Oh my god.” “Seonghwa?!”

“Who?!” Hongjoong, who’d been sitting cross-legged next to him, demands. He bumps shoulders roughly. “Who?!” 

Seonghwa welds his lips shut, body visibly shaking with the urge to confess. Wooyoung cackles evilly like he knew prior. The evil bastard. 

“Your turn,” His evilness himself, Wooyoung, tells Mingi.

“What? Oh, shit. Uh… Okay,” Mingi presses his lips together as he thinks. In spite of knowing damn well that he’d have to come up with one eventually, he’s still not ready. “Hmm… Hmm…”

Mingi glances around - like that’ll help. Unsurprisingly, he gleans little inspirations from the trees or the shadows cast behind them by the fire’s light. He sees clusters of students here and there, chattering and running around. Someone strums guitar idly, and a few crowd around the person, drunkenly nodding their heads.

“Never have I ever…” Mingi starts, still scanning the clearing. “Never have I ever… Is that the five foot witch I hate?”

  
That’s definitely not what he meant to say. Instead of putting out a hypothetical, his loosened lips blurted out the first thing that came to mind upon seeing, well, _ him _. A few of the others snicker, initially confused. One by one, their gazes follow that of Mingi’s.

“What the fuck?” “Shit.” “Huh?” “Hold up- Do I know them…” A few mutter. The utterances surrounding him sound muted to Mingi. Maybe it’s the blood pulsing through his veins that’s drowning their sound out. Maybe it’s his own thoughts. Whatever it is, something mutes the world around him, and for a second, all he can focus on is them.

Much like the first time he ever set eyes on Rouge Shadow witches, they appear to move in slow motion. Is it the booze? Or is it a spell executed by their intention? 

Led by their dark-haired ringleader, the very same clique of witches who tormented Yunho stride in. They walk across the pine and underbrush like it’s a runway. Their shadowy eyes sweep across the clearing, obviously unimpressed. Right beside the black-haired Ravn is none other than the tiny demon himself: Yeo Hwanwoong. Well, sure, perhaps demon is an exaggeration. Mingi doesn’t hate the guy. He thinks. He could certainly hate him more. But he doesn’t like him, either. When he’s drunk, it’s really hard to discern one emotion from another, so he’s happy to just categorize it as hate.

“Damn.” “They’re kinda hot.” “Why the fuck are they dressed like they’re goin’ to the opera?” A few others in his clique murmur.

“Yeo,” Hongjoong scrambles out of his perch to shuffle over to Yeosang, “Yeo, did Johnny invite those guys?”

Yeosang tilts his head up to regard the other, “Uh, Iunno all the peoples he invited.” He shrugs, the movement exaggerated by the sheer amount of alcohol in his system. The brunette then leans forward and starts hugging Hongjoong’s arm. Yup. He’s there.

“Seriously?”

“He’s all about loving everyone. I think he said somethin’ about witches. Like. He didn’t _ not _invite the RS people.”

“Ugh. They’ve got some nerve showing up here.”

“I think- D’you think they noticed us?” Mingi asks.

“I’ll make sure they do,” Hongjoong snarls.

“You’ll what?!”

Without further elaboration, Hongjoong puffs his chest out and starts striding across the clearing. His flushed face and surliness make Mingi realize just how drunk the other is. The others scramble to follow at their leader’s heels, some a tad more clumsy than others. Mingi tries to ignore the way the edges of his vision distorts. As buzzed as he is, he knows for Hongjoong it’s got to be twelve times worse. He has the lowest tolerance of all of them.

All too soon they’re just paces away from the coven, and Mingi isn’t sure if the knots in his stomachs are from the booze, the potion, or the witches. He swallows nervously as he attempts to formulate some sort of de-escalation tactic in his drunk head. Unfortunately, his brain is slower than Hongjoong’s quick-witted temper.

The unofficial warlock leader strides right up to the black-haired one - Ravn, that’s what he’s called. The witches had just finished filling crystal cups with the cauldron brew when Joong barges in. While Mingi is all for defending Yunho’s honor (and assuring what they did will never happen again) this certainly isn’t how he’d go about it.

“The fuck are you doing here?” Hongjoong snarls, steam practically coming out of his ears.

Ravn’s eyes meet Hongjoong’s, and the witch takes a prolonged sip of his beverage as if to nonverbally say: “I’ll get back to you in just a moment, when I care to.” When the witch is finally done, he heaves a dramatic sigh of satisfaction and grins.

“I could ask you the same thing. Though I see you wore your Sunday best. Cute jacket,” Ravn responds coolly. The smile he wears makes him look like the cat that ate the canary. His black, wavy hair even resembles cat ears - so much that, for a second, Mingi’s drunk mind hallucinates the tufted fur points twitching with interest. 

“Aren’t you people ‘too good for this’ or some shit? You sure as fuck are dressed like it. Take a wrong turn on your way to the opera?”

“That’s not very Wolfwood Welcoming of you,” The other snarks. “Isn’t this party for people who are relevant?”

Yunho - blessed, sweet Yunho - tries to cut in, cheeks flushed and lips stretched into a strained smile, “H-Hey, Hong, maybe let’s just- just reintroduce ourselves. Start off on the right foot.”

“Oh we know each other,” Ravn smirks.

Yunho’s brows raise with surprise, and Hongjoong’s nose scrunches in disgust.

“Yeah, it’s a real fucking treat seeing you across the room at fashion club. As if ruining that isn’t enough, you’ve gotta show up here, too?”

“I don’t understand what you’re getting at here,” The witch chuckles. “Do you really expect us to up and leave?”

“Kind of, yeah.”

“Or… Or what?”

Mingi’s eyes widen. Oh no. That sounds like a challenge. Challenging Kim Hongjoong is a bad idea. Challenging a drunk, angry Kim Hongjoong could very well be a death sentence. One time, one of his teachers found a poem he handed in unsatisfactory. They asked him to revise it. He wrote a two-hundred-page epic overnight out of sheer spite. It got perfect marks, no doubt giving the teacher hours of extra work. That instructor was gone by the time Mingi arrived the next year.

Mingi’s mind meanders, gaze sweeping across the coven opposite them. Their expressions range from disinterested to annoyed. The little one, Hwanwoong, stands close to Ravn, posture coiled up tight and eyes down. Maybe he’s embarrassed by his friend, too. Mingi would love to leave their issues behind. However, it seems like half of his group doesn’t agree. He supposes that it’s a bit more difficult given that they have to share clubs and even classes with the witches. He considers that just letting it go might be unrealistic.

After all, Yunho never got a real apology.

“We could do another little ‘reenactment’,” Hongjoong growls, stepping forward. His fist clenches tight, a faint glow illuminating bones and skin an orange tone. 

“Like I’d let you catch me off guard again.”

“Okay,” Seonghwa steps forward, taking Hongjoong’s arm. Ah, yes, the voice of reason. If anyone can talk Hongjoong down it would be him. Maybe. “Let’s not.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” Another witch, Keonhee, responds. He approaches Ravn’s side and leans against the other affectionately. “Let’s not start a fight with witches. Good choice.”

“I just don’t get- why are you here?” Hongjoong insists irately. “This is a Wolfwood tradition.”

Ravn answers sarcastically, “We did it just to piss you off. You specifically. And it worked.”

“Great. Mission accomplished. So, leave?” 

“And give you the satisfaction of watching this sweet ass walk away? I don’t think so.”

Hongjoong grimaces. Just as he’s about to fire off a retort, a loud voice booms across the clearing.

“Hey! Hey! Everybody! Attention!” Johnny, dangerously close to the bonfire, hollers, “Attention- I’m talking to you- yes, you Yeri, put it down- put the baby bat down-!” He snorts.

“Oh,” Hwanwoong raises his brows, “I didn’t know there was free entertainment.”

“A court jester, perhaps?” Redheaded Xion adds.

Mingi rolls his eyes. He watches Johnny giggle as he floats around, demanding people in the clearing pay attention to him. In spite of how very obviously drunk he is, people still stop and pay attention. Mingi envies the guy. He can do just about anything and people will smile, laugh and go along. Mingi’s fairly certain that, if he did the same stuff, people would throw fruit at him or film him being an idiot so they could laugh with their friends later. Pays to be popular, he supposes.

“Okay!” Johnny shouts, voice amplified by a sound spell. “Okay, okay, okay-! Listen! First of all I wanna thank you all for coming to our humble little shindig out here-”

“Oh brother,” Yeosang groans.

Johnny continues, “-now many of you know that the welcome bonfire is, like, one of Wolfwood’s most old and tried and true traditions and shit. Yeah?” People actually respond and nod. The power this man holds, it awes Mingi. “But! Some of you actually don’t know! That’s okay, that’s okay. That is why I - and we - are here.”

Mingi glances around, just to make sure he’s not the only one confused. Thankfully, he’s not. Hongjoong is looking at Johnny with an expression of faint disgust. Yeosang appears to be contemplating death while Wooyoung, San and Yunho lean against one another for balance.

Johnny continues, “Every year, it is a tradition, at this esteemed institution, that we engage in some amicable hor-horseplay-” He giggles because apparently the word “horseplay” is hilarious to him. “Horseplay. Anyway. The games have varied over the years, but through my tenure at this… Great. Institution. Our game has been as such-” Johnny waves his hand in an arc in front of him, and two orbs begin to glow in front of him, one red, one blue.

“Two beacons, two teams. Your goal is to capture the enemy team’s beacon and bring it into the radius of your own veil of safety- or, as one might crudely put it: your base. It’s capture the flag.” He chuckles. A few excited murmurs sound out across the clusters of cliques around the fire and at the treeline. “But!” Johnny claps, his sound spell amplifying the spell to thunderous levels. Mingi flinches as the other continues his little speech. “Since we have some special… Special guests and company, this year, the division of teams will be different. In the spirit of good, lighthearted fun, we’re going to go witches versus warlocks.”

“Figures,” Hongjoong rolls his eyes.

San laughs to their group, “I, for one, welcome the sanctioned excuse to pound one of those assholes.”

“Mm- Phrasing, San,” Seonghwa responds with distaste.

“I didn’t fucking stutter.”

“I think you’re missing the point,” Mingi laughs. San shrugs it off, either entirely oblivious or uncaring.

“A game?” Ravn gasps dramatically. “Sounds _ fun _.”

“Haven’t you shit on Wolfwood enough?” Hongjoong groans. “Why don’t you just go party? We can all forget about this shitshow and pretend that we don’t know each other. How about that?”

“Aw, he’s scared we’ll beat him,” The black-haired witch lilts. The others snicker among themselves.

“If I recall, last time we were in the woods you ran out screaming with piss running down your leg. You sure you’re up for this, big guy?”

“Sounds like _ someone’s _projecting. C’mon, any game that requires an ounce of wit, strategy or skill- well, it’s obvious we’ll win.”

“You know what. Fine. Be our guest, then. Have a good time running around the woods with your little coven. It’ll be fun to see the look on your face when you lose to a bunch of ‘lowly warlocks’.”

“Why don’t we bet on it? Oh, wait- you don’t own anything worth wagering.”

Hongjoong opens his mouth to respond, but he’s interrupted before he can retort.

“So!” Johnny claps again, making everyone within the vicinity wince from the loudness. “Your bases will be… Well, that way-” He waves to his right, and the red orb bounds in the direction he’d pointed, disappearing into the woods. “-aaaaand, that way!” He repeats the motion, sending the blue orb in the opposite direction.

“Wolfwood is blue, Rouge Shadow is red- fitting, right?” He sounds so damn pleased with himself. “Okay you have- hm, let’s say, like, ten minutes to get to your positions- ha- and then the beacons will activate- it’ll be game time. We’ll go- hmmm, three rounds. So, like, if you’re not feeling it now or whatever, just go next round. That clear enough for everyone?”

The herd of tipsy students holler back with a chorus of yeah’s and okay’s. It’s simple enough, straightforward and familiar. Still, Mingi’s stomach knots with nervousness. Usually, it’s a pretty lighthearted game, but, even among Wolfwood students, things can escalate. Inevitably people get rough, a few fights break out, and stuff can get rowdy. It’s always been in the name of fun. However, with the Rouge Shadow witches involved, Mingi isn’t sure that he feels as secure. He doesn’t entirely trust the newcomers to respect the sanctity of the game.

“Okay. Well. Go!” Johnny waves at everyone down below. “Go already! Go! What are you waiting for? I said go!” He did send out the beacons, after all. “You’ve got ten minutes, you silly little truffles.” The drunk fourth-year laughs indulgently at his own dumb joke as the others disperse.

At first, Mingi didn’t notice a lot of Rouge Shadow witches at the party, but a surprising amount of people head off in the other direction. The sight of conspiratorial witches scurrying into the woods does nothing for the mounting nervousness in his stomach. Hongjoong waves Mingi and the others into the woods, and a sizeable crowd of participating warlocks head in.

The third-year Mark ends up being their unofficially elected captain. He gestures to beckon the Wolfwood troops inward, finding a clearing big enough to house the dozen who decided to participate. Everyone ambles in, the majority of the crowd still drunk. 

Mark closes his hand into a small fist. Yellow-orange light glimmers from within, and when he opens his hand, a tiny light beacon of his own emerges. He sends it to the clearing in order to give everyone light to see. In the illumination of the little orb, Mingi can see the slight flush on the third-year’s cheeks. He grins ear to ear, clearly indicating he’s a giggly drunk.

“Alright, everyone! Here’s the plan!” He claps before tittering. In spite of being buzzed, Mark delivers their strategy with clarity. It’s a relatively simple approach.

The Wolfwood warlocks opt to have aggressors and defenders. The roles are self-explanatory. Aggressors breach the Rouge Shadow territory with the intent of capturing their beacon. The defenders take posts in the woods in order to guard their beacon. Mark proposes that they station people at varying radiuses surrounding their own blue beacon.

“So, who wants to be an agg- oh! Okay, so- so many volunteers,” Mark laughs. Unsurprisingly, San, Hongjoong and Wooyoung stepped forward. Hongjoong is competitive as hell, and San’s always an ag during these games - he’s part of the martial arts club, after all. And, wherever San goes, Wooyoung often follows. 

Mingi does not consider himself terribly violent. Though he is competitive, he tends to keep that part of him in. Overall, he’s a team player, and being defense sounds way less scary. The last thing he wants is to walk out of the party with seaweed for hair or something. Once the aggressors are decided, they break off into their own little group to plan their attack. Mark volunteered himself to be in that group, delegating a girl named Lucy to be their leader.

Lucy makes a little mockup of the forest with simple light magic, mapping out little circles centering around their beacon. Mingi stares dazedly, brain still abuzz with booze, tipsiness underlined with tension. He leans against Yunho as Lucy delegates roles.

“What about you?” She asks. It takes Mingi a second to realize the question is directed at him.

“Oh- Um-” He looks to Yunho and Seonghwa - the two nearest friends. 

“Why don’t you put him on the point?” Seonghwa suggests softly with a knowing smile. Knowing _ what _, Mingi can’t figure out. He sort of lacks the brainpower and goes with it. Lucy nods, conjuring “Mingi” written in light script. The chatter continues, and Mingi stares at his newly assigned post. He’s “on point” as Seonghwa said, right by the beacon. Is that a good thing or a bad thing? It could be a lot of pressure, but it could also be boring as hell.

“Attention!” Johnny’s voice booms through the clearing, making half the warlocks there jump. Johnny isn’t actually there, he’d just cast a spell to address everyone. “Your ten minutes are up, so start running, my little pretties.” He cackles wildly before the spell wears off and his voice peters out.

“Okay!” Mark claps happily, “Let’s go!” He points toward where the red beacon had dispersed, and the aggressors run off, some taking to the air while others ran by foot.

“Everyone on your marks. Fast!” Lucy echoes the other’s gesture, pointing into the woods. The defenders oblige, each disappearing to take their own post. Mingi double-checks her map before hopping into the air and floating toward his spot. He waves down to Seonghwa and Yunho on the ground before disappearing into the woods.

  
The further he ventures in, the fewer warlocks there are. They littered the outermost perimeter with the most. As the witches approach the beacon, the fewer there will be. In hindsight, Mingi wonders if he should’ve given some input on the strategy. Doesn’t it make more sense to defend the beacon with more fortitude? 

He shrugs the doubts off, not all that committed to the game in the first place. He’s more invested in the idea of sticking it to Rouge Shadow snobs than playing the game. Soon, the glimmering beacon appears in Mingi’s sight. He floats toward it almost lazily before touching down next to a tree nearby.

An indiscernible amount of time passes quietly. Two minutes, five - maybe ten? The warlock can’t tell. He doesn’t care much, either.

Mingi teeters, the blur at the edges of his vision gradually subsiding. The thing with enchanted spirits (well, the alcoholic ones) is that they tend not to be long-lasting. At least, not the ones brewed by unskilled hands. Rumors and hearsay tell stories of magical elixirs that simulate the ecstasy of drunkenness for hours on end with little damage. However, most homebrews or enhancers perform more like fireworks. They’re fast-acting, not long-lasting. The redhead is fine with it, though. Though the pleasant buzz subsides, his restored senses ultimately make him better as a player.

The redhead clings to a tree, glancing across the horizon. The southern woods are far less dense than those up north which makes for easier sightlines. Silver moonlight illuminates the trees, casting long, thin shadows across the forest. Occasionally, the breeze will jostle a few, making Mingi think something is there. Of course, it’s nothing. Just a trick of the light and his imagination. Normally, Mingi doesn’t give a shit about sense-enhancing spells, but now he wishes he had some sort of see-through or sonic hearing spell in his arsenal.

Mingi sighs, leaning against the tall alder he’d stationed himself under. With the absence of company and dwindling buzz, his mood starts to go down again. He wonders if he’d been sent there on purpose. Maybe his friends really just wanted him out of the way. After all, it’s not like he’s very useful in these games. He’s not particularly coordinated or canny in stuff like this. He doesn’t consider himself particularly canny at anything, really. Insecurities that would normally be quite little pronounce themselves more prominently than they normally would. He feels like he’s looking over the edge of a steep hill, and he can feel the tug of gravity threatening to bring him down. The redhead bites down on his lip as he adamantly tries to fight the proverbial gravity tugging on his mood. He reminds himself that, no, his friends do like him and that this is all a stupid game anyway.

“Please, somebody capture a flag already,” He mutters. The warlock sighs, glancing back at the glimmering blue orb behind him. Its blue light glimmers, ominous and haunting in the forest setting.

Suddenly, the hairs on the back of Mingi’s neck stand up. He shivers, overcome by the strange sensation. He writes it off as a chill at first. Maybe a stiff breeze had blown through. But, the sensation persists.

“What the…” His legs carry him toward the beacon. Though he can’t intuit what, he can sense something… Off. Mingi narrows his eyes as he approaches the beacon. The blue orb appears undisturbed.

A soft shuffling noise sounds out behind Mingi. His head whips around and his eyes widen. He scans the horizon, but there’s nothing. No birds, no rustling branches, not even a woodland creature. Mingi leans against the tree again and huffs. He’s starting to get bored and antsy. Part of him wants to abandon the post completely, but given that he’s closest to the beacon, him leaving would create a gaping hole in their defense. (More importantly, it would royally piss everyone off - and Mingi _ cannot _handle having that much drunk animosity directed at him.)

Something rustles nearby, drawing Mingi’s attention back to the orb.

Mingi steps closer and glances around. He scratches at his nape, unable to shake the unsettling sensation. The warlock stills. He doesn’t hear a sound. It’s dead silent. No gentle rustling of the branches in the breeze, no critters.

It’s too quiet.

A muting spell, Mingi thinks.

The warlock steps closer to the orb, scanning his surrounding with more careful discernment. He doesn’t hear anything, but something does shift in his vision. It isn’t something so explicit as a silhouette or a shape. It’s more vague, an insinuation of a shift, a blurring of lines. A cloak.

Mingi wracks his brain for charms or enchantments he could cast to take away concealments. He knows disenchantment spells and revelations are important - but it’s higher level stuff, and school’s barely started. As he’s contemplating what to do, the air around him shifts. It’s subtle - something he probably wouldn’t notice normally - but with nothing but the company of a beacon, he notices the atmospheric changes more easily.

Where there had been no breeze before, the most gentle one passes by him. It isn’t natural, though. The “breeze” carries the faint scent of perfume. Mingi gasps. He doesn’t hesitate to reach out in the direction of the invisible invader. Cloaking is a clever tactic, but a glib one, too. It’s an incredibly imperfect disguise, easily seen through by anyone with a discerning eye. Especially when the caster is a young, inexperienced student. A person can only cover up so much with camouflage.

Mingi grasps blindly in the general direction of the perfumed person. Though he fully suspected that someone was walking by, for some reason his jaw drops with shock when he grabs onto something. Smooth, silky fabric slides between his fingers. A soft gasp sounds out, and the person immediately pulls away. The warlock balls up more of the fabric in his hand to get a better hold. The person struggles against the grip, but Mingi has enough brute strength to hold them fairly well.

“Give it up,” Mingi chuckles. “I’ve got you.”

The person lets out an exhale that sounds almost peeved. They wiggle around futilely, in response to which the warlock rolls his eyes. He’s pretty sure there are rules about this kind of stuff. Don’t they have to go back to their base or something? Somehow, he manages to forget the technicalities every year.

During his brief lapse of distraction, the silken fabric beneath his hand begins to move and shift. It goes limp, sliding down, and Mingi realizes the witch’s ploy. They’re trying to shed the outer layer and make a break for it.

Mingi decides to employ the use of his other hand - because, wow, he does have two of those, doesn’t he? He reaches around roughly where he imagines a shoulder to be and gets a hold of the person with ease. Obviously, his goal is not to feel the other person up. However, he does want a good grip, so he slides his hand across the person’s shoulder in a cursory fashion before settling atop a bicep. They’re… Strong. Muscular, but not big. Not big enough to fend off Mingi’s brute strength. Definitely not tall, either. The warlock’s big hands stretch over the other’s shoulders easily.

“Just give it up,” Mingi chuckles. A pleasant rush of satisfaction runs through his veins. He helped! It makes him feel a bit better about being the beacon guard.

The tiny person flails, “Let me go!”

“No, you’re supposed to go back to your base- don’t you know the rules?”

“If you don’t let me go, I’ll hex you!” They huff petulantly. The person’s voice is familiar. Too familiar.

“Wait a minute-” Mingi releases the witch. In doing so, he unintentionally drops them. He wasn’t even aware that he’d lifted them partially off the ground. Holding them the way he did must have taken their feet off of the ground, meaning they really are quite petite. Petite and familiar. “_ You _.”

The witch stumbles back and releases his cloaking spell. Clumsy and probably a bit tipsy himself, the lilac-haired boy falls onto his ass. He looks at Mingi with a disdainful pout.

“Figures they’d put a brick wall like you at the beacon.”

“What- I am not- actually, that’s…” Kind of a compliment, Mingi thinks. It makes him sound like something formidable and big and immovable.

“That wasn’t supposed to be a compliment,” The witch remarks dryly.

“I know that! I’m just- I’m reclaiming it. So it’s a compliment now. _ Thank you _.”

“You’re like a C-average student, aren’t you?”

“Shouldn’t you be floating your sorry ass back to your base now?”

“What? Are you gonna make me?” Hwanwoong stretches out, making a show of relaxing on the ground (like he hadn’t fallen there out of clumsiness). 

“Uh-” Is he? Mingi considers it for a second. As much as he likes the idea of being intimidating, he’d never dream of using real force on someone. Mingi’s lips clamp shut with the absence of anything to say.

“That’s what I thought.”

  
Things get awkward fast. The silence is oppressive and makes Mingi think he should do or say something. He’s fairly certain this is when Hongjoong would grab the guy by the collar and throw him out. San would probably use magic to hang him up in the trees or something. For some reason, Mingi can’t bring himself to do it, though. He tries to think of a way to get the other to go away. 

All the while, Yeo Hwanwoong, devil that he is, pretends to check his cuticles under the blue light of the beacon. He’s the picture of cool disinterest. His naturally sultry gaze looks even more disinterested than usual with the smoky makeup he’d applied, and his clothes - even rumpled - appear to drape with deliberateness. Mingi thought he hated the guy before. But now looking at the witch makes sickness fester in his stomach. He’s so little and perfect and calm - basically, everything Mingi is not. The warlock is sort of awestruck at the other’s audacity, really. Mingi wouldn’t dream of dressing to the nines and showing up to a party where he knows people don’t like him. There’s obviously an element of antagonism there, but the warlock wonders if part of them just feel entitled to it, too. Entitled to being there, entitled to taking part in traditions that aren’t theirs. His cheeks heat up with anger the more he agonizes over it.

He hardly notices the glimmering blue beacon moving out of the corner of his eye.

  
“Wh- Hey! I caught you! Stop moving it!” Mingi yanks the beacon out of the air and holds it protectively.

Hwanwoong snorts, “_ Oops _.”

“You really think I’m a moron, don’t you?”

“I mean, it _ did _take you a second to notice, didn’t it? I’m surprised it took you that long,” The witch’s eyes shift away from his hands to the warlock’s. Mingi doesn’t like the glimmer of mischief in them, not one bit. “You seem distracted.”

The warlock rolls his eyes and sets the beacon back in its original place, “Why don’t you just go back to your base already?”

“I mean, it was worth a shot.”

“Yeah, well, you lost your shot, so-” Mingi makes a waving motion, “-shoo.”

Hwanwoong finally does what he should’ve done in the first place. He stands up and stretches unhurriedly. For someone who’d gotten caught, he seems far too content. Once he’s all stretched and satiated, instead of leaving, he leans against a nearby tree.

“Uh- What are you doing?” The warlock asks.

The witch grins, “Waiting.”

“For what? A red carpet to get rolled out?”

“For us to win the game- or, well, the round. There are multiple rounds.”

“What makes you think you’re gonna win? We do this every year. I guarantee there’s no tricks you guys can pull that we’ve never seen.”

Hwanwoong chuckles wryly, “Okay, well, first of all, I highly doubt that. We value intellect at my school instead of relying on being, like, six feet tall. And, secondly...” He glances over Mingi’s shoulder, in the distance. “I think he’ll be here soon.”

“What? Who-?”

The answer to Mingi’s question comes in the form of distant footsteps. The warlock turns on his heel, goosebumps pricking his flesh at the sudden intrusion. Unlike Hwanwoong, this person is clearly not using stealth. Their footfalls are heavy and fast - they’re sprinting. How had nobody noticed?

Mingi squints at the darkness. Shifting shapes bound toward the clearing.

“Mingi!” San’s loud voice echoes through the clearing. It turns out that he’s one of the shadows. Occasionally, a beam of moonlight hits the slender warlock as he trails behind the still obscured witch.

Mingi’s eyes widen.

“Mingi, help!” San shouts. The redhead blinks confusedly, his reactions still delayed. The shadowy witch is in the clearing seconds later, his bulky frame illuminated by the blue beacon’s light. Mingi vaguely recognizes him as one of Hwanwoong’s clique. He leaps to intercept the other, hoping to just body block. The witch stumbles with a wide-eyed look, and the two of them end up toppling over.

Mingi gasps with pain as he hits the ground. The other is solidly built, his weight no joke. The warlock vaguely registers the other witch’s giggling and the approach of San’s footsteps. The witch on top of him recovers more quickly, scrambling up and grabbing the beacon.

“Thanks Geo- Leedo!” Hwanwoong titters.

Mingi hoists himself off of the ground in time to see San sprinting toward them. The black-haired warlock dives for the beacon firmly grasped in the other witch- Leedo’s hands. San gets a grip, but the other holds on tight. 

“Mingi-!” San yells, voice strained from exertion.

“Uh- Right-” The redhead squawks. Even though he could probably help using his hands, his brain defaults to magic instead. Mingi tightens his focus for an instant, silently incanting a tried and true tripping hex he’s known since grade school.

The bulky blond witch, too focused on San, doesn’t see it coming. He gasps, falling sideways and ceasing control to San.

San smirks, hopping into the air and floating above the other, “I’ll take that, if you just would go on back to your- Ah!”

Apparently, Leedo hadn’t completely lost grip. His hold on the orb is stubborn. He scrambles up, joining San in the air and tugging on the node.

“I have it,” He says, voice husky. 

San pulls back, “I recommend letting it go.” He smiles mischievously.

“No.”

“Well, if you’re not gonna play nice…” San pulls on the orb, causing the other to pull back in retaliation. The black-haired warlock takes this opportunity to let go, making the other reel back yet again. Vines shoot out of the ground and wrap around his ankles, tugging him down.

“You-!” Leedo grunts in disbelief. He’s quick, though. He manages to keep one hand on the orb - just barely. The rules necessitate contact, otherwise, he’d have to be sent back. Well, technically he’d been “caught” by Mingi, so he should’ve started his trip back already; however, it doesn’t seem like anyone’s keen on the rules. Mingi supposes that’s not too far off from how it normally goes. Even when it’s pure Wolfwood, people twist the rules. Or just disobey them. Actually, it’s expected that people are going to cheat. Mingi supposes he shouldn’t have expected anything else from their rivals.

Leedo is fast. He directs the open palm of his free hand toward the ground and shoots out a stream of fire. The amber light fills the woods. Mingi yelps, scrambling away. The residual heat makes a sweat break out on the redhead’s nape.

  
San’s vines dissipate immediately, much to the warlocks’ chagrin. San yanks the orb again. Leedo’s reaction is, once again, quick, but it doesn’t look as controlled. Mingi can’t tell if the witch means to jerk his hand and send a fireball straight toward San’s head. Maybe he did. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he got caught up in the moment, or maybe his concentration broke. Though Mingi is inclined to think it was an accident, San appears to be of differing opinions.

  
The warlock gapes with utter disbelief. Mingi can sense the vexation coming off of his friend, radiating bright like blinding sunlight.

That’s not good.

San releases the orb completely and makes a sweeping motion with his arm. In response, the earth shifts and rumbles softly beneath Mingi’s feet. He stumbles a bit, stretching out his arms widely for purchase. 

A massive, thick, winding root emerges from the ground and imitates the warlock’s movement, sweeping across the little clear space. The spindly tree limb aims straight for the witch. Leedo, eyes wide and mouth in a tiny “o” shape, spins out of the way. Unfortunately for him, he doesn’t completely clear the large root and gets grazed on the side. Mingi winces when he hears the snapping noise of ripping fabric. 

This escalated.

Even San realizes it, eyes wide and jaw dropped. In the wake of his flare-up, his eyes twinkle with regret. 

The warlock chokes out, “Shit, I’m sorr-” A small ball of fire flies past his face. The orange light illuminates his face for a moment, revealing just how shocked he is. He blinks confusedly - as does Mingi. A breeze blows by, and a second later, the witches are gone.

Mingi gawks, “What the-”

“_ Fuck _,” San snarls, turning around in the air. In the distance, the blue light of the beacon zips between trees. Two snickering silhouettes accompany it. “Mingi, let’s go.”

“But I- My post-”

“Your post is flying across the woods.”

“R-right. Duh,” Mingi nods, feeling silly for a second. His feet are barely in the air when San bounds after them.

Mingi clumsily follows the other, weaving between trees and narrowly avoiding branches. They close the distance fairly quickly, taking the witches by surprise. Hwanwoong glances over his shoulder and shoots them a dirty look before gesturing to Leedo. The blond witch turns around, sizing up the warlocks while he flies backward with ease.

“Can you distract the little one?” San asks Mingi.

“Uh- Me? I mean, I guess-”

“Good. The other one’s mine.”

“Uh-”

San raises a hand, coaxing the surrounding trees to reach out. Leedo smirks, deftly dodging them. He’s quiet, but there’s a ferocity in him. Maybe it’d been stoked by alcohol in his system or maybe the guy’s got a competitive streak in him. San sure as hell does. While Mingi really wishes he didn’t have to deal with Hwanwoong, the other witch is…

Yeah, he’ll take on Hwanwoong.

San plants his feet onto a nearby tree and pushes off, propelling himself closer to the other. Mingi watches his friend tangle with the blond witch. Hwanwoong moves to help. Mingi, remembering his one job, tries to think on his toes. The redhead levitates a pebble off of the ground and chucks it in the lilac-haired witch’s direction. It’s far from sophisticated, but it’s perfectly adequate. Hwanwoong flinches when the rock hits him square on the head.

“Wh- Ow!” He turns around and pouts. “What the hell is wrong with you!? Are you trying to give me brain damage?”

“Seems like you’ve got plenty already.” Mingi sasses.

“Oh- that’s rich coming from the likes of you.”

Mingi floats closer, “Well it would explain the developmental issues.” It’s petty, but he gets a tiny rush of satisfaction seeing the other’s pout deepen.

“Going after my height? Again? Very original. Very indicative of your high IQ.”

Mingi rolls his eyes, “Ugh. I don’t need to prove shit to you.”

“Is that what you were doing before? Proving yourself? Because you’re doing a hell of a job.”

“Says the guy who pitched a fit in yoga class.”

“There it is. Let it out. I can tell you’re still pissed. You won’t stop giving me looks during class.”

“Trust me. I try to avoid looking at you, but our sadistic ass teacher decided we’re partners.”

“W-well, try harder. I don’t want you looking at me. Close your eyes.”

“Maybe I will. But-! You do it, too. You keep staring daggers at me.”

“I do not stare at you.”

“Mhm.”

“Wh- How full of yourself can you be? You really think you’re hot shit, huh?”

“Well, ‘hot’ was your word,” Mingi smirks.

“_ Ew _ ,” Hwanwoong glowers. He crosses his arms and makes a point to turn away. “Give a guy height and a waistline and he thinks he’s the dark lord’s _ gift _to the universe.”

Mingi floats around so he can antagonize the other more - it’s weirdly fun, “Just so we’re clear: you are admitting that you think I’m hot?”

“No. I’m saying _ you _think you’re hot. Hell- is it that difficult for you to comprehend?”

“I think I’m comprehending pretty well.” Mingi makes a show of stretching, folding his arms under his head and leaning back - just to be extra annoying.

"I think all that posturing is just you trying to compensate for your dick size."

"Excuse me,” Mingi feigns offense. “My dick is huge and you know it, since you spend so much time staring at it in the yoga class."

“Wh- I nev-”

Before Hwanwoong can finish the sentence, a flash of brilliant orange light strobes in his peripheral vision. Hwanwoong’s head turns in the direction of the light, too. Both of their jaws drop. Initially, it comes toward them in what appears to be slow motion. However, that protracted second quickly passes.

A swell of fire flies past the two, far too close for comfort. Mingi reflexively cowers from the massive fucking fireball, unintentionally clinging to Hwanwoong in the process. Too surprised to care, Hwanwoong pulls the other closer out of altruistic instinct. The blast zooms past them and hits a tree instead.

The witch and warlock both gape and watch the unfortunate aftermath. The tall fire catches quickly. It’s almost impressive just how quickly the fire takes. The flames quickly make their way up the trunk of the tree, eating up the branches and pines. Loud popping and sputtering echoes across the woods as embers spit up from the growing blaze.

“Oh shit,” Mingi murmurs.

“U-Uh- We can… Put it out,” Hwanwoong mutters, eyes still fixed on the fire.

“Yeah, um…” It is then that Mingi realizes he’s still clinging to Hwanwoong like an oversized koala. To make matters worse, the other seems to realize it at the same time. They make eye contact, and the pain of jarring awkwardness stabs Mingi in the chest. The warlock scrambles off of the other sheepishly, straightening his clothes and coughing awkwardly. Neither of them make a comment.

“S-So,” Hwanwoong coughs. “A water spell?”

“Where’s your friend? He’s the one who started this.”

“G- Leedo? I highly doubt that. He’s very precise.” 

“Oh, so you think it was my friend? San wasn’t the one throwing fireballs.”

As if summoned, San hovers toward them and hollers, “Teacher!”

“Huh?” “What?!” The two, confused, yell at the same time.

“Teacher! There’s a teacher coming!” San shouts. “Mingi, we’ve gotta go!”

“What-!? But-”

“They’ll take care of it! Let’s go. Now. Hong’s dorm.”

“Uh-” Mingi looks to Hwanwoong for some reason. The other merely returns his wide-eyed gaze with one of his own. “Bye.” He’s not sure he meant to bid the other farewell, but it’s what came out of his mouth. San waves Mingi over, and the redheaded warlock follows. Not soon after, he catches a glimpse of the one called Leedo floating over to join Hwanwoong. 

“Fucking assholes,” San grumbles. 

  
There are multiple modes of transportation for the magically gifted. Teleportation is by far the most advanced, but it’s actually an umbrella term. There are different modes - each one varying in difficulty. Short jumps are fairly straightforward, easy things. The longer the distance, the harder. One can choose to scatter their entire being, reconstructing in an instant where they wish to appear. There are also magical devices that can aid the process, acting as beacons, leading a person from one to the other. Thankfully, the two don’t need anything special to teleport to Hong’s dorm. He’s in the same place he’s always been, and for them, it’s as easy as envisioning the walk to his dorm while focusing their magical energy. 

“Let’s go,” San holds out a hand and Mingi takes it. They don’t need to hold hands, but San’s affectionate by nature. He can probably use the support anyway. The night ended up being a whirlwind, nothing at all like they expected.

The two take a deep breath and picture Hongjoong and Yunho’s dorm room. For an instant, Mingi can feel the magic course through him. When it comes to transference it sort of tickles. The energy surging around him, instantaneously taking him apart and repiecing him, sends goosebumps across his skin.

  
When he opens his eyes, he has to blink a few times, taken aback by the light. It’s infinitely more cramped and much lighter in the dorm room. Blinking to adjust, Mingi starts to make out the figures of his friends leaning against walls or sitting on the beds. The redhead leans heavily against Yunho’s bed. He’s relieved to see the other hitched a ride - he wouldn’t have been able to get there by himself (at least, not by magical means).

Everyone’s accounted for. Everyone’s safe. Everyone’s home. Mingi heaves a sigh, slumping against Yunho’s bed. 

“Well,” Hongjoong sighs heavily. “That fucking sucked.”

**Author's Note:**

> // i like to call this one: a multi mess. ill prob write little sequels and side stories bclike i cant stop thinking of all the witch/warlock shenanigans and scenes fjhfg;hwe but FIRST mingi :3c


End file.
